


In Another's Eyes

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Winchester's Visions, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1478068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A migraine, a vision, a mysterious killer and Dean may just lock Sam away in Bobby's cellar to keep him safe whether he likes it or not. post 2x11 "Playthings" hurt/comfort/awesome!Sam/Dean</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
> 
> Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P

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_**CHAPTER 1** _

Dean tossed the burning matchbook down into the open grave and smiled as the flames caught and shot up into the darkness. The orange light showed him the pained visage of his little brother on the other side of the grave, holding his head and trying not to look as miserable as he obviously felt. Dean turned and packed up their gear, glad the spirit of Jasper Newman had been laid to rest and wouldn't be terrorizing teenagers anymore. He straightened and slung the bag over his shoulder before looking over to his brother.

"Let's boogie," Dean said and watched as Sam worked at smoothing the lines of pain from his face to force a smile.

"Good. It's freakin' cold out here." Sam hefted his own bag and followed as Dean turned and headed for the car. He'd been trying to convince himself for hours that it was only a headache, but it was quickly becoming impossible to ignore that he was headed toward a full-blown migraine. It'd been a long time since he'd had to deal with one and he shied away from that memory - Jess pressing cold cloths to his forehead and drifting feather light kisses over his jaw to take his mind off of it.

He closed his eyes for a moment as he trudged through the grass and tried to push the heartache away. On the heels of their father's death, everything seemed to hurt more. Old wounds felt new again, and Jess' loss was once more an ache in his chest now joined by the empty spot that had held his Dad. He stopped suddenly as a hand slapped into his chest and opened his eyes to find Dean staring at him.

"You planning on walking through the fence?" Dean asked, irritated, and gestured behind him to the low fence Sam had been about to crash in to with his eyes closed. "Works better if you go around."

"Yeah. Sorry." Sam turned and headed for the gate.

"What's up with you, Sam?" Dean asked and narrowed his eyes as they neared the car. "Cause it kinda looks like your shining's about to have a go at you again."

Sam groaned and shook his head. "It's just a migraine, Dean. No psychic weirdness, ok?" Sam asked and rolled his eyes at the look of disbelief he received. It proved a mistake and he slammed his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose as new pain throbbed through his head.

Dean sighed and let it go. "Get in the car." He turned his brother and gave him a gentle push to the passenger door, tugging the bag from his shoulder. He had to admit it didn't seem to be one of his visions. Usually, Sam would be cringing and groaning on the ground already, so Dean took a breath and allowed his nerves to settle. He didn't stop watching his little brother, however, the way he squinted at every flash from a passing cars' lights as they drove, the low moan when a semi passed them and honked its horn, or the look of intense concentration on his face as he fought the urge to throw up. All were typical symptoms of one of Sam's migraines. It may have been years since he'd had to nurse his brother through one, but he hadn't forgotten the steps.

Dean took pity on him a little after midnight and got them a motel room. He pulled Sam from the car and guided him into the room, dashing ahead to turn on the bathroom light and leave the main lights out.

"Thank you," Sam said softly, gratefully, and curled onto the bed furthest from the door. He buried his head in the pillow and listened to the soft sounds of Dean moving in and out of the room with their bags, going into the bathroom, coming back out, opening a bottle of water, and Sam flinched when Dean's hand landed lightly on his shoulder.

"Easy. Take these." Dean soothed, remembering how even his brother's skin became over-sensitive during a migraine.

Sam cracked his eyes open only enough to see the pills in Dean's hand. He took them and swigged from the bottle he handed him before hiding his face in the pillow again. "M'fine," He mumbled. Dean snorted softly and set the bottle on the bedside table. "Get some sleep."

He stood up while Sam curled a hand protectively over the back of his head and pulled Sam's laptop out, setting it on the table and settled in for a long night. He wished he could turn on the television or even a light, but either one would cause Sam pain. He was left with the silence and the sound of his brother breathing, and it wasn't enough to push away the shouting in the back of his head, the voice that had been screaming at him from the moment he'd heard the heart monitor's unforgiving drone telling him his father was gone.

He shook his head and turned on the laptop. Dean angled the screen so its light went nowhere near Sam and pulled up the bookmarked sites his brother used to find them hunts. He started sifting through the websites and hoped the search would help drown out his father's voice and Sam's demand that he keep his promise.

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

Sam turned off the shower and rubbed his still-tender head. The migraine had backed off enough to be manageable thanks to Dean and the pain pills he made him take several times in the night. He smiled as he dried off and pulled on his clothes. His drunken night at the Pierpont Hotel may have been painful in the morning, but it had done something to start to heal their relationship. The distance that had sprung up between them with their Dad's death had closed somewhat, and it was comforting to have the big brother who cared back.

He opened the bathroom door and reared back as a cup of coffee was thrust in his face. "Dude, what the hell?"

Dean chuckled. "Mornin', sunshine."

Sam took the steaming cup with a smirk. "You are such a child."

Dean studied his brother and nodded, liking what he saw. The pinch of pain was mostly gone from around his eyes and he didn't do more than flinch at the sunlight coming in through the window. "Got us a hunt, if you're up for it."

Sam nodded and sipped his coffee. He sighed happily at the flavor - Dean had made sure it was just the way he liked it - and felt a little more of the tension in his head slip away. "I'm good. What'd you find?"

"Another pissy Casper two towns over." Dean grinned. It was an easy job but it needed doing and wouldn't tax his brother's tender head too much, he hoped. "Been tossing people down stairs in this renovated bed-and-breakfast."

"Do we know who it is?" Sam went to the table and sat in front of his laptop that was still open, glancing at the pages Dean had left open.

"Likely suspect. Old lady that died in the house fifty years ago." Dean went about packing up his stuff and Sam's. "There's a couple witness statements about seeing some old woman before they took a header."

"No one's dead yet. That's good," Sam commented and scrolled through the pages. "You find where she's buried?"

Dean chuckled. "Back yard." He nodded when Sam looked up in surprise. "Yeah, digging her up's gonna be…fun."

"Wonderful." Sam rubbed a hand down his face and sat back. "Don't suppose we get lucky and the house is closed this week?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. Already called and booked us a room." He tossed Sam the bag for the laptop. "Let's get moving unless you want some more beauty sleep, princess."

"Bite me," Sam laughed and closed the laptop, sliding it into the bag. He grabbed it along with his coffee and followed Dean out of the room feeling much better than he had the night before.

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

"Anyone looking?" Dean asked for the tenth time as he dug furiously behind the large Elm tree out back of the bed-and-breakfast.

"No. Windows are clear." Sam turned and rubbed a hand over his head. "Everyone seems to be asleep." His migraine had yet to leave him completely, and he couldn't shake the feeling he'd had for the last hour or so that it was building to something.

"Good." Dean tossed another shovelful of dirt up, brought the shovel back down and grinned as it clanked. "Yahtzee. Got her."

Sam raised the sawed-off shotgun he carried in readiness. This was usually when the spirits took notice that they were about to be forcibly sent on. He turned his head to glance back at the house and his head spun. He put a hand out to the tree to steady himself as his vision blurred. "Crap."

Dean cleared the dirt from the lid of the coffin and pried it loose with the blade of his shovel. The desiccated remains of Grace Masterson shone in the beam of his flashlight. "Time to say goodnight, Gracie," He said irreverently.

"Dean." Sam's voice brought Dean around in a rush. There was a quality to it that set his alarm bells ringing.

"Sammy?" Dean went to the edge of the grave and levered himself out in time to watch Sam go to his knees. "Sam!" Dean scrambled the rest of the way out and caught him, holding on to his shoulders. Panic clawed its way up his throat. Sam's eyes were screwed shut, his hands clamped around his head, and blood poured from his nose to run down his face and onto his shirt.

"Guh…Dea…" Sam lost his fight against the agony piercing through his skull and didn't feel himself topple forward into his brother as the image of a woman and a house exploded behind his eyes.

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

_The house was dark, clogged with shadows_ _,_ _as she opened the door and closed it behind her. She turned on the hall light, highlighting her platinum blonde hair_ _,_ _and set her keys on the little table. She took off her name badge and set that beside them, wiping a smear of ketchup off the filigreed engraving of her name, Marie._

" _Eggie!" Marie called as she moved out of the lit hall into the darkened living room. The hall light sent her shadow ahead of her into the dark. "Come on, boy. Momma's home!" There was no customary bark of greeting and she frowned. She looked out the wide window above her couch to the skyline of Wichita and her car, the little blue Beetle, parked under the streetlamp out front._

" _Eggie! Come on already." Marie turned away from the window. She reached down to turn on a lamp and jumped when the bulb blew. "Well_ _,_ _crap." The light in the hall behind her flickered. She turned to look, took a step forward and it too went out. "Eggie?" Marie called again as the house was plunged once more into darkness. "What's going on?"_

_She narrowed her eyes and instinctively backed up a step. The shadows in the hall seemed to gather together. They moved before her eyes._

" _No." Marie breathed as dread clawed through her and stole her breath in short pants._

_The shadows grew, looming up and seemed to float through the door toward her. They were an inky black, darker still against the dark beyond them._

" _Oh_ _, G_ _od." Marie whispered and stepped back again. The air seemed to freeze in her lungs as she saw dark, shadow arms emerge from behind her and fold in to wrap around her. She screamed as the darkness swallowed her._

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

"Sammy?" Dean caught his brother's weight as he collapsed into him and rolled him so he could see his face. The blood continued to flow, and, even in the moonlight, he was frighteningly pale and definitely unconscious. "What the hell, Sam?" He was used to Sam's visions laying him out for a little while, but this…this was new, and he frantically checked for a pulse before allowing himself to take a breath. He sat Sam up and tipped his head forward to keep the blood from draining down his throat and choking him.

"Dammit." Dean looked over to the open grave and then back to the house, torn. He needed to finish the job and he needed to take care of his brother. "Ok, tiger. Ok. You just hang on." Dean got up and pulled Sam back to the tree. He propped him up against it with his head hanging forward and gave his shoulder a pat. "Be right back. Just gonna go toast the old lady. Stay."

Dean hastily poured salt and lighter fluid down over the open casket, and with a last glance at the house to make sure they weren't being watched, he lit his lighter and dropped it in. The flames burst into life, lighting the night and illuminating Sam's disturbingly still figure. Dean quickly packed away their stuff, shouldering the bag and went to Sam.

"Sam?" Dean gave him a gentle shake. "Come on, dude. I really need you to wake up." He heard a soft moan and pulled Sam into his arms. "Sammy? You back with me?" He supported Sam's head as it lolled and leaned down so he could see his eyes.

Sam cracked his eyes open and saw the wavery image of Dean's face. "Dean?" His voice was soft and weak, and even that small sound was enough to make his ears ring. His head felt like it had split in two.

Dean sighed in relief and let his head rest in Sam's hair for a moment. "Scared the shit out of me," he muttered before leaning back to get a better look. "Can you stand if I help? We gotta get out of here before someone notices the bonfire." They'd taken the precaution earlier of telling a few people they were hunting that night and wouldn't be back, so no one would notice them missing or, hopefully, even consider them responsible for the desecration.

Sam nodded slowly. "Uh…yeah." He let Dean pull him to his feet and then just held on when the ground seemed to move beneath his feet. Pain ratcheted through his skull again, and he let his head drop forward to Dean's shoulder. "Shit. Wait."

"Ok, buddy." Dean got a firmer grip around his chest and supported him while he swayed, keeping an eye on the house.

"Sorry." Sam took a deep breath and coughed at the wet feeling in the back of his throat. He leaned his head back and touched his face. He gasped as he held it back out and saw it covered in blood. "Dean?"

"Just a nose bleed," Dean assured him and smiled for him. "You always had lousy timing. Come on." He hitched Sam up against him and walked as fast as he could away from the fire and into the woods that bordered the back of the bed and breakfast. They had parked the Impala on the other side, and now he wished they'd just left her in the driveway as Sam weighed heavily against him.

"Had a v-vision," Sam said softly as they walked and closed his eyes, trying to breathe past the pounding in his head.

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean spared a glance at him and didn't like what he saw. His nose was still bleeding. "It can wait. Concentrate on moving those giant feet."

Sam was walking on autopilot by the time they reached the car. Dean folded him into the passenger seat and shoved a rag from the backseat under his nose. "Hold this." He put Sam's hand over it and waited until he roused enough to do so. Dean drove with one eye on the road and the other on his brother. He knew he couldn't take them back to the bed-and-breakfast without too many questions, so he checked them in to the first motel he found instead.

Dean opened the passenger door once they parked and had to shake Sam awake. He'd dozed off against the window and seemed happy to stay there. "Up you go, Sasquatch. You can sleep in the room. Here we go." He didn't wait for Sam to help, pulling him out and up and holding on while he got his knees under him. "How's the nose?"

Sam opened weary eyes and lowered the rag he'd still managed to hold to it. "Dunno."

Dean snorted. "Helpful." He pushed the door shut and got Sam in the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Whoa, hang on." Dean pulled him back up when he tried to lay down. "Lemme see that nose."

Sam swayed even with Dean's hand on his shoulder and wished the pain in his head would go away. "She's gonna die," He said softly and opened his eyes and Dean could see the haunted look in them. Dean hated seeing that look in his brother's eyes. "God, Dean…she was so scared."

"Easy, Sammy." Dean swiped the rag under his nose, satisfied the bleeding seemed to have stopped at last. "Get these off." He pulled on his brother's shirts and did his best not to laugh when Sam raised his arms like he had when he was ten, letting his big brother tug them off over his head. The amount of blood he'd lost made Dean nervous. The pale skin on his chest, spotted with blood, further worried him. "What did you see?"

"A woman." Sam frowned and tried to pull the vision back. "Uh…Marie. Her name's Marie. She has a…a dog." He braced a hand on his head against the pain and felt Dean's hand settle over the back of his neck with a gentle squeeze.

"Lay down now." Dean eased him back to the bed and went to his bag, finding the pain pills he'd scored from their last clinic visit along with a bottle of water. "Take these." He shook a couple out into Sam's shaking hand and gave him the bottle then went quickly into the bathroom for a clean, wet towel before coming back and sitting on the bed beside him. "What else?" He asked as he smoothed the rag over his brother's forehead.

"Wichita. She's in Wichita, and there was a…" Sam faltered as the images flashed through his mind. "A shadow? Something. It was dark." He rubbed his hand over his face and scowled as Dean pulled it away before it could dislodge the cold cloth on his forehead.

"Leave it," Dean said sternly. He knew the cold would help abate some of the pain. "Anything else? Need a little more to go on if we're going to find her."

"We have to," Sam said suddenly and looked up at him. "Dean, she was terrified and it…God it hurt."

Dean nodded and pressed his head back into the pillow. "Ok, we'll find her. We will. Get some rest. I'll start looking."

"She's blonde, young. Twenties maybe." Sam's voice dropped as the pain drove through his head again. "Has a dog named Eggie and a beat up, blue Volkswagen Beetle."

"Eggie?" Dean said with a soft laugh. "Poor dog. Alright."

"Ah…crap." Sam groaned and rolled to his side, pulling the towel from his forehead down to his nose as he felt it start bleeding again.

"Shit." Dean held a hand on his back and winced in sympathy. "I don't like this."

"Neither do I." Sam's voice was muffled by the towel and steeped in frustration. "Go on. I'm ok."

"You're not. This isn't," Dean growled and stood, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He grabbed Sam's laptop but instead of sitting at the table on the other side of the room, he brought it back and stretched out on the bed with it. He needed to stay near him until he was sure he'd be alright because this was not how Sam's freaky vision thing usually went. He was scared.

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_To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

_**CHAPTER 2** _

Sam rolled slowly to his back and squinted against the sliver of sunlight breaking through the curtain above his head. "Ow." He groaned and tossed an arm over his eyes. Light snoring drew his eyes to his right and he snorted a soft laugh. Dean lay sprawled out on the other bed with one leg on the floor and the laptop open across his chest. "Get up, Sam," he told himself, and slowly, carefully rolled until he was sitting on the side of the bed. His head felt tender, but the pounding was gone and he smiled as he stood and then swayed. He shot a hand out to the nightstand to steady himself and the sound had Dean jerking up.

"Sam!" Dean rescued the laptop from its slide to the floor and tossed it aside. "Hey. How you feelin'?"

"Down, boy," Sam laughed. "I'm fine. Just stood up too fast." He rubbed his hand under his nose and came away with crusted blood. "Yech. I'm gonna…" He waved a hand toward the bathroom and went that way.

Dean smirked. "Yeah, you look nasty, dude." He laughed as Sam flipped him the finger before shutting the door and sat back down on the bed. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and down his face. It was a relief to see Sam up and walking after last night and looking more like himself. He rubbed scratchy eyes and grabbed his jacket from the end of the bed before going to the bathroom and knocking on the door. "Coffee run!" He heard Sam's muffled 'thank God' and smirked, heading for the door. He stepped outside and squinted into the bright sunlight as he went around and got into the Impala. He hastily turned on the heater as the engine growled to life. Even in April the winter chill had yet to leave.

Dean stopped first and gassed up the car, knowing they'd be making the three-hour drive to Wichita soon to find the woman in Sam's vision. He shuddered at the memory of seeing that much blood coming from his brother and wished there was someone who actually understood this crap that he could talk to. He briefly considered calling Missouri Mosely and then shook his head. She'd tried telling Sam it was some kind of gift he should learn to use.

"Got no damn clue what she was talking about," Dean muttered to himself as he filled coffees for them inside the gas station. He grabbed donuts and chips on his way to the counter and set the coffees up beside them. "Pump 6 too," he told the station attendant and dug the cash out of his pocket. Dean checked the amount on the register and then looked up to the TV behind the counter.

It was a news broadcast and the image on the screen froze him. It was a nondescript house on a nondescript street, but a little blue VW Beetle sat on the street in front of it and the caption read 'Shocking murder in Wichita'. "Son of a bitch."

"Sir, $23.50)?" The clerk waved a hand to get his attention.

"Uh…yeah. Keep the change." Dean dropped several bills on the counter and collected the coffees and snacks in a hurry. If he was lucky, he'd beat Sam out of the shower before he turned on the TV. It wounded something inside his little brother every time they weren't fast enough to save someone he saw in a vision. He wanted to be there when he found out.

Dean broke a few speed records getting back to the motel. He juggled the two coffees to get the door open, pushed it in, and deflated with a groan. Sam stood with a towel wrapped around his hips, hair still dripping water down his back in front of the little television where the same news report was playing.

"Sam, this isn't our fault." Dean kicked the door shut behind him and went to the table, setting the coffees down.

"We should have gone last night," Sam said softly and turned tormented eyes to him.

"When?" Dean asked and threw his arms up in frustration. "When you were unconscious? Or maybe when you were bleeding out through your damn nose?" He took a breath for control and shook his head. "Dude, there's nothing we could have done. You know that."

Sam turned back to the TV and rubbed a hand over his head. "We still have to go. It's not done yet."

"I know, Sam," Dean said with defeat in his voice. "Go. Put some clothes on already. We gotta go. Still gotta pick up our stuff from the B-and-B."

"Right." Sam swallowed his sadness for the woman he'd failed and took his bag in the bathroom with him.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Marie Froman's house looked less sinister in daylight than it had in Sam's vision as he stood on the sidewalk and looked up at it. Thanks to the police reports, he knew now that she had been a waitress at the local hot spot. She was a favorite of the cops, and he saw one of them off to the side of the driveway wiping tears from his face, unabashed that his fellow officers were watching. Sam pulled up the police tape and ducked under it with Dean at his side. He straightened the tie on his suit and had his fake FBI badge ready to go as a man with sergeant's stripes on his sleeve raised a hand to stop them.

"You folks can't be here. Back behind the tape." The sergeant demanded.

"FBI." Dean held up his badge and gave him a moment to look it over.

"You horning in on our turf?" The sergeant scowled at them. "We don't need Feds."

"Look man," Dean put on his best long-suffering smile and held his hands up peaceably. "The boss tells us to come out here and take a look, we take a look. It's nothing personal. We're just following orders." He put his hands in his pockets and rolled his eyes. "I had a hot date with a redhead that'd make your eyes cross and instead…" He waved a hand toward the house with a disgusted look.

It seemed to work as the sergeant's expression softened into something like understanding. "Alright. Just…try not to get in anyone's way." He stepped aside. "Marie meant a lot to a lot of the guys."

"I promise we'll be respectful." Sam nodded and followed Dean up the lawn toward the house.

"You can wait out here, Sam," Dean said and stopped him at the front door with a hand on his arm and a smile. "Won't take me long to check it out."

"Dean." Sam knew what he was doing; giving him an out. Sam read the reports. He knew what was waiting for them in there. "I'm fine. Come on." To prove it, he opened the front door himself and walked inside.

"Stubborn," Dean grumbled and pushed the door shut behind them.

Sam stood in the entry hall and experienced a sense of déjà vu seeing the interior as he had in his vision. He turned surely toward the arch leading into the living room and stopped, just staring and trying to take it in. He didn't even register his brother's hand landing on his shoulder with a firm pressure.

Blood spattered across most of the room. Streaks of it stretched across the floor and furniture. Spatters rode on the walls like someone had flung a paint heavy brush at them in a bid to create some macabre work of art. The ceiling was decorated as well in spots and sprays that glistened obscenely with the sunlight streaming in the uncurtained window over the couch. In the center of it all lay a pool of blood that belonged to Marie in the vague outline of her body where it had fallen, though she had long since been taken away to the coroner's.

"Sam." Dean gave his shoulder a soft shake, not liking the glassy look of distress in his eyes. "Sam. Go check the rest of the house." He pulled on Sam's shoulder and turned him, pushing him gently down the hall and away from the scene. "Go. I got this."

"Ok." Sam wanted to fight and stay in the room, but another part of him was very grateful to his brother for the excuse to get out of there. He'd thought he was ready to see it, but it had only brought up the memory of the pain she'd felt - the pain that he had felt as she died. He hadn't told Dean that little piece of information, that he had felt it as if it were happening to him. His big brother was panicked enough already about the nose bleed, and he couldn't bring himself to dump even more of this psychic crap on him right then. Sam didn't want to even consider the ramifications if he was actually going to feel every death in every vision now. It was a terrifying thought. He shook himself and stepped aside as a white-suited officer moved past him.

Sam headed into the kitchen and took a deep breath. The kitchen was clean, without a spot of blood. A discarded coffee mug sat on the counter beside a coffee maker that would never see use again. His eyes found a picture taped to the front of the refrigerator of Marie surrounded by nine men, all wearing SWAT vests and silly grins, and wiped at the moisture in his eyes. The last cop in the kitchen with him did the same and carefully took the picture, sliding it into his jacket with a sidelong look at Sam.

"I didn't see anything," Sam said softly and smiled sadly as the officer nodded in thanks and left him there. Sam looked around at the room and then frowned. He turned quickly. "Hey," He called, catching the attention of the man who'd just left. "Did they ever find her dog?"

The cop turned back with a frown. "Eggie? No. They think he must have run off." He shrugged. "Find him in the neighborhood somewhere probably."

"Right. Thanks." Sam turned back and looked over to the partially open door leading to what had to be the basement. Most household dogs, he knew, would run away from danger rather than to it, and Eggie hadn't answered Marie when she came home. If he hadn't been dead already, then maybe he'd simply been hiding. He pulled the door open and peered down the dark stairs.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean surreptitiously took his EMF meter out of his pocket while no one was looking and clicked it on. It remained stubbornly silent. "Damn." He turned it off and put it back in his pocket wishing it had reacted. A ghost would be so much easier to deal with than what he was afraid it was - another special kid like Sam. No, he told himself. Not like Sam. Sam was a good person with a good heart. He was not going to turn out like the rest of them, not if Dean had anything to do with it. He went to the window and ran a finger along the sill, relieved when he found no trace of sulfur.

"Ok. Not a demon," Dean said softly and looked around at the mayhem. "What the hell did this?"

"Fifty-thousand dollar question," a voice piped up from beside him, and Dean jumped. The man laughed and ran a hand back through a thatch of silver hair. "Sorry, Agent. Didn't mean to startle you."

"Heh. No problem." Dean smoothed his suit jacket and smiled. "Wasn't paying attention."

"No wonder." The man held out a hand. "Dr. George Rescal."

"Rascal?" Dean asked with a smirk as he shook the proffered hand.

The doctor chuckled. "Rescal," He corrected. "But believe me, I get both. I'm the coroner and department psychologist."

"Interesting combination." Dean raised a brow at him. "Shouldn't you be with the body?"

"Oh, I will be shortly but…" Dr. Rescal looked sadly out the window at the officers milling around outside. "I wanted to make sure I wasn't needed here by the living before I go see to the dead."

Dean nodded. "Did you know her, Doctor? Marie? I get the impression she was pretty well known with law enforcement."

"She was a treasure. And call me George. Please." George smiled. "I knew her. Most of us did. She was just…that kind of person. Even her dog is sort of the unofficial mascot of the department. They're looking for him even now."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Dean felt inadequate saying it, as he always did, and the doctor gave him an ironic smile.

"That's usually my job to say that," George said softly. "Well, I should get to it, I think. Come by the coroner's office if you have any questions. We'll take any help we can get figuring this out."

"Well, actually, I do. Do you know if she was seeing anyone?" Dean pointed around the room. "Lots of pictures of her and some cops, but was there someone else? Maybe someone who got mad at her?"

George's face darkened. "She had a boyfriend. He has an alibi and several witnesses. He was asleep on a friend's couch during a party last night when…when this happened." He took out a notebook, opened it, and wrote down a name before ripping out the page and handing it to Dean. "Mark Kennedy." He sniffed as he put the book away. "No one much liked him except Marie."

"Got it." Dean said and did. No one was going to give them any trouble if they looked into him. "Thanks, Doc."

"Good luck." George turned and left Dean looking around the ruined room.

Dean looked down at the name and address and smiled. "Suspect number one." He shoved the paper in a pocket and went in search of his brother. "Sam?" He followed the hall out and into the kitchen. "Sam!"

"Coming!" Sam's voice echoed up through an open door.

Dean watched as his too-tall brother emerged with a squirming, white ball of fur under one arm. "What the hell is that?"

Sam grinned. "Eggie." He scratched long fingers into the fur behind one ear and was rewarded with a happy yip. "Found him hiding downstairs under the water heater, poor guy. There you go. You're safe now."

Dean rolled his eyes. "We're not keeping him."

"I know that." Sam scowled at him. "They're looking for him. Come on." He got a more secure grip on Eggie as the dog shoved his head under Sam's jaw. Eggie began shaking as they neared the living room and all out whined as they passed. "It's ok, boy. Not taking you in there. Shhh. You're ok." Sam kept up a soothing mantra, much to Dean's amusement, as he carried the dog outside. "Hey, Sarge?"

The sergeant turned and his eyes widened in surprise. "Eggie! Holy crap, you found him. Guys, he found Eggie!" The sergeant quickly took the little dog from Sam, smiling when the dog licked at his face and didn't notice or care about the few tears that escaped his eyes. He looked up to Sam with a smile. "Hey, thanks. Really. We were worried about him."

"What's going to happen to him?" Sam asked and reached a hand out to let Eggie give him a happy lick. If the man said 'kennel' or 'pound,' Sam fully intended to steal him and find a real home.

"He'll go home with one of us," The sergeant said firmly. "No shortage of takers. Thanks again." He left and met the group of officers who converged on him and the dog with happy smiles.

"We need to see the body." Dean took Sam's arm and pulled him in the other direction toward the Impala parked down the street. "No EMF or sulfur in the house, and we have a suspect - the boyfriend that apparently no one really likes but her."

Sam nodded and went quietly with him, ducking under the tape. "It's another one, isn't it?" He asked softly as they reached the car. "Another kid like me?"

"It's some murdering jackass who may or may not have a few things in common with you, but he is definitely NOT 'like' you, Sam," Dean said firmly. "Now stop whining and get in the damn car."

Sam smiled faintly and nodded, touched, and got in. Dean filled him on what little information they had on the way to the coroner's office, and Sam wondered if this Mark Kennedy was going to be another person he couldn't save.

"Coroner's cool. You'll like him." Dean grinned and parked beside the large, brick building that housed the coroner and the police precinct above it. They followed the signs around the side of the building and through the single door into the offices where the pervasive smell of eucalyptus used by coroners all over the country made their noses tingle. "We might have beat him here if he stopped anywhere on the way." He went down the narrow stairs with Sam on his heels and pushed through a set of double doors. "Hello?"

"Theater 1!" a voice yelled out from down a long hall with several doors.

They found the door and went inside where Dr. Rescal was just washing his hands in a sink off to the side with a gurney in the center of the room holding a body bag. He looked around and stared. "Agent? Already?" George chuckled. "Sorry, my receptionist is…beside herself with the news." He nodded toward the gurney. "Let her go home early." He turned off the sink and grabbed a towel. "Never did get your name.

"Sorry. Agent Dean Burton." Dean smiled and nodded to his brother. "My partner, Sam Newsted."

Sam refrained from giving Dean a roll of his eyes for his name choices. "I found Eggie." Sam smiled at the man. "He was hiding in the basement."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" George grinned, but it quickly faded as he looked to the gurney. "I was afraid something equally…horrifying had happened to the little guy. Well," he took a pair of gloves from a table by the gurney and slipped them on, "I suppose you'd like to see her."

Dean nodded, stepping slightly in front of Sam as though he could somehow protect him from seeing this in person. "We really need to know how she died, Doc."

"George, Dean. Please." George took the zipper of the body bag and pulled it back, and then grabbed either side of the black plastic and set it aside, revealing the body of Marie Froman.

Dean heard Sam's sharp intake of breath and sympathized. It was a gruesome sight. He went closer and leaned over slightly. "Did a knife do that?"

Sam shook his head silently behind his brother. No knife had inflicted those injuries, he knew. He'd felt it and shivered at the memory as a headache bloomed behind his eyes in response.

"Looks like it, but I won't know for sure until I've had a look," George said softly. He sniffed and closed his eyes. "Uh…I just…I need a moment. I'll be right back."

"Take your time." Dean watched as the doctor, obviously overcome now standing over the woman, stripped off his gloves and left the room. "She was real popular."

"They loved her." Sam moved so he could get a better look and sighed. Her body looked to be covered in deep slices. They were everywhere; her neck, her face, arms, torso, and he was sure her legs would show the same abuse.

"You said you saw a shadow?" Dean asked with a quick glance behind him before turning back to study the wounds. "Could have been a daeva."

"No." Sam shook his head again. "I'd have recognized that. This was…" He trailed off and stared at her ruined face. "A manifestation of someone's thoughts almost. Something created out of the darkness to do what he wanted."

"Well, that sounds like fun," Dean observed. He sighed and straightened, turned back to Sam and froze. "Sam. Your nose."

"Huh?" Sam reached a hand up and felt the first trickle of blood reach his upper lip. At the same moment, pain drove in behind his eyes like the blade of a knife. He grabbed his head as his vision whited out and went to his knees with a strangled cry.

"Sam!" Dean caught him again, as he had the night before, and went to the floor with Sam in his arms. "Dammit, Sam." He tilted his head up and hissed in a breath at the trickle of blood that was beginning to flow more quickly. Sam's eyes fluttered, glazed and closed on a pained groan as he passed out again and all his weight settled into his brother. "No. No. No. Sammy?"

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_To Be Continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

_**CHAPTER 3** _

"What's going on in here?" Dr. Rescal came back in and gasped. "Oh, my God." He ran to the two men on the floor. "What's happened?" He quickly took in the panic on Dean's face, and the blood on his partner's, together with the young man's too pale skin, did not bode well.

"He, uh…I don't know." Dean shifted Sam in his arm so his head leaned forward. "Started as a nosebleed and then he hit the floor."

"Has this happened before?" George took Sam's wrist and counted the seconds on his watch with the rapid beats of Sam's heart beneath his fingertips.

"Yeah. He gets migraines." Dean decided that would be a story they could stick with that might not have people asking the wrong questions. "Had one yesterday and a nosebleed last night."

"Did he lose consciousness then as well?" George kept his voice calm for Dean's sake. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it beneath Sam's nose. "Hold this and let's get him somewhere more comfortable. There's a couch in my office across the hall."

Dean nodded and kept his grip around Sam's chest while the doctor took his legs. Together they lifted Sam's considerable bulk and left Marie's body behind. In George's office, they set Sam gently on the long couch along the back wall. Dean moved in behind him and pulled Sam up against his chest so he could support his head and keep him from choking on the blood.

"Good. That's good. Hold him just like that." George went to his desk and took out a black physician's bag. "Does he suffer from hemophilia?"

"Hemo-what?" Dean looked up in confusion.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, George smirked. "It's a disease that prevents the blood from clotting properly. They call it the royal disease." He went back and pulled a chair up by the couch and slipped a blood pressure cuff over Sam's arm. "British royal family's known for it."

"No. Nothing like that." Dean could feel Sam's skin going cool and clammy beneath his hands and it was unsettling.

"Hmph." George pumped up the cuff and slid the head of a stethoscope beneath it, listening. He released the pressure and moved the stethoscope to Sam's chest in various places before sitting back. "Well, aside from the…copious amounts of blood I think he's actually alright." He shrugged. "Far as I can tell here, anyway."

"He's fine," Dean assured him. "It happens. He'll bounce back tomorrow."

"How is it he's still a federal agent with this particular problem?" George asked sincerely, concerned for the boy.

Dean smirked. "They don't know."

"Ahhh." George nodded and laid a finger along his nose. "Will you be ok with him on your own for a bit? I need to get the autopsy started before someone comes asking."

"Yeah, we're good." Dean looked up and smiled. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it but…" George studied them for a moment and sighed. "You really should have him checked out in a proper hospital. Things like that? They don't just get better."

"He's been looked at. He's fine." Dean said firmly and then softened his tone. "I swear, it ever gets worse, I'll personally carry his ass to an E.R."

"That's all I ask." George raised his hands in surrender with a smile. "I'll be back later to check on you. Take all the time you need."

Dean watched him go and sighed. "Did I mention how you're scarin' the crap out me, kid?" he asked his senseless brother softly and leaned his head around to check the bleeding. It was slowing a little at last it looked like. "Your shirt's toast, dude," Dean commented seeing the bright spots of red scattered over the white shirt beneath Sam's tie. He used the hand curved around the back of Sam's neck to tilt his head back and get a better look at his face.

"Come on, Sammy. Wake up already." His voice was soft, a plea to the eyes shifting behind closed, bruised lids.

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" _Anne! I thought I told you to get the rest of those boxes out here!"_

_Anne sighed and rolled her eyes. "Geez, Jerry. Chill out." She swept her eyes over the crowded camping supply store and groaned. "I'll go get them now. Try not to burst a blood vessel." She left him cursing and trudged back through the store. "Wish I'd never slept with that dick." She looked guiltily at her wedding ring and then shook her head, pushing the thoughts away._

_She opened the store room door and flicked on the light then stared wearily at the rows and rows of stacked boxes. "One of these days_ _,_ _I swear I'm gonna make his lazy ass come back here and do all the heavy lifting," Anne grumbled and went along the rows looking for the ones she needed._

_The light flickered above her. She stopped to glance up at it. "Huh." Anne shrugged and pulled a box down from the top of a six foot stack, setting it on the floor. She checked the next pile and stopped as the light flickered again and then went out._

" _Oh come on!" Anne yelled and stamped a foot. "Could this day GET any worse? Dammit!"_

_Anne turned to go back to the door and stumbled to a halt. She squinted, looking at the shadows around the lit doorway. They were moving. "What?"_ _s_ _he asked softly. She shook her head. "Ok. You're seeing things. Wow." She rubbed her hands into her eyes and looked again and gasped. The shadows curled out of the darkness across the door, shifting and moving and blocking out patches of light._

" _This is not happening. Jerry?" Anne backed away as a feeling of 'wrongness' swept through her. "Jerry!" She yelled. Anne felt something brush along her back and squealed in fear as she spun to find only blackness behind her but…it moved._

_She sucked in a terrified breath and turned and ran toward the door. She didn't make it. The shadows swelled out and surrounded her, picking her up off the floor as she screamed and the pain began; like a thousand cuts burning along her body._

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Dean set the bloody rag aside and shifted Sam's head back onto his elbow now that the bleeding had stopped. "Been like ten minutes, dude," He said softly and tapped his hand along Sam's cheek. "You really need to wake the hell up before I do drag you to a damn hospital." He looked down at Sam's shirt, up to his face and then jerked his gaze back down again. "What the hell?"

Some of the blood stains seemed larger than they had the last time he'd looked, but that couldn't be as he'd been covering Sam's nose to staunch the bleeding. Dean reached down and unbuttoned the white shirt quickly. He pulled it apart and gasped. There were fresh cuts on Sam's chest. They were small and shallow but they were bleeding, and as he watched, a new one appeared.

"Shit!" Dean grabbed up the rag again and pressed it to the newest wound just as Sam groaned softly. "Sammy? Sam! Wake up right the hell now!" His voice carried more than just a hint of panic. His nerves weren't going to take much more of this, he decided. "Come on. Sam!"

Sam groaned again and cracked pain-filled eyes open to look up at his brother. "Dean." His voice was low and rough and dragged along Dean's nerves.

Dean watched his face crumple in pain as he closed his eyes again. "No, come on, Sam. Eyes open. We got a problem here."

"God…Dean. My head hurts." Sam pulled a hand up to hold his pounding head and worked to breathe through the new level of pain he was feeling. His chest was burning with it.

His HEAD hurt? His chest was being shredded by some invisible….something….and all he could say was his head hurt? Not helping. "Sam, you're bleeding," Dean said angrily.

"Noticed." Sam ran a hand over his chin and opened his eyes again to see the blood.

"No, not there." Dean used his arm to prop his brother's head up higher and nodded. "Your chest, dude. What the hell's going on?"

Sam wearily raised his head and looked down, and if there'd been any blood left in his head, it would have rushed out at the sight of a half dozen bleeding cuts on his chest. "Oh, my God," He breathed and reached a tentative hand out to touch them, but Dean swatted it away.

"You need to talk to me here, Sam, and do not tell me this is 'fine'." Dean pushed him up a little higher and stared at him as he continued to sop up the fresh blood on his chest.

"I can…I can feel it now." Sam couldn't quite put it into words, his mind still reeling at having seen matching wounds appear on his own body.

"Well, no shit. Of course you can feel it," Dean growled and rolled his eyes.

"No. No, I mean…in my visions…when they die." Sam whispered it and turned wide, frightened eyes up to him. "I felt what happened to them."

Dean stared at him while his brain struggled to comprehend what Sam was telling him. "Wait. You mean…you're actually feeling it? Their deaths? Not just seeing it?" Sam nodded and he cursed. "That's it, dude. We're outta here." The cuts on Sam's chest were reduced to sluggish oozing, and Dean pulled his shirt back together, buttoning it while Sam stared at him. "We'll head to Bobby's."

"Dean," Sam opened his mouth but Dean cut him off.

"No. That's it. We're done," Dean growled and pushed out from behind him, letting Sam rest against the back of the couch. "This is not worth your life! You get that? This…" He waved a hand at Sam's chest. "How much worse is it gonna be the next time, Sam? I am not willing to trade you for some stranger. I don't care what that makes me. Screw 'em! They're not family." He threw the bloody rag at the wall. His voiced softened slightly as he looked at his bleeding, frightened brother. "They're not worth you."

"Dean, please." Sam worked to keep his voice calm, both to try and talk Dean down and to keep from making his own head hurt worse; Dean's yelling had doing that all on its own and he was grateful he'd lowered his voice.

"Dammit, Sam. No!" Dean paced over to George's desk and gave it a solid kick.

"It won't matter, Dean. You know that." Sam pushed himself up and swung his legs to the floor. He swayed and had to close his eyes.

Dean watched him, his pale brother covered in his own blood and someone else's wounds, and wanted very much to knock him out, toss him in the Impala's trunk, and shag ass back to Bobby's, maybe lock him in the cellar and keep him there, safe.

"Dean, the visions will still happen. It won't matter where I am." Sam said tiredly and then smiled gratefully up when he felt Dean's hand on his shoulder steadying him. "They'll still come. At least here we can maybe stop them if we find who's causing the murders." He watched Dean's eyes, trying to gauge if he was winning the argument or not and quirked another smile at him. "Besides, you're here. My awesome big brother won't let some stupid psychic crap take me out."

"Shit, Sammy," Dean groaned and dropped back to sit beside him on the couch. He pulled a hand through his hair and stared at the floor. "How the hell do I protect you from your own head?"

Sam shook his. "I don't know." He dropped his head into one hand and curled the other over his chest and the ache of fresh wounds there. "I guess…we do the job. We find the killer and we stop this." He looked back up and waited for Dean to meet his eyes. "We do the job."

"Dammit." Dean's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine. But I swear, Sam. First time this shit looks like it might actually kill you, I will find a way to lock your ass up safe and sound in the junkyard. Don't think I won't."

"I can take care of myself," Sam retorted, his pride piqued. Dean's snort of humor didn't help.

"Yeah, doing a bang up job there, donating blood all over the place." Dean stood back up and managed a smile for him. "We need to get out of here before George sees the new handiwork. Close your jacket over it."

Sam nodded carefully and pulled his jacket closed, buttoning it up and then let Dean pull him slowly to his feet. He moaned softly as his head swam and his chest flared with new pain. "I'm good."

The door to the office opened and George stuck his head in. "You boys alright in here?" He watched Sam getting his wobbly legs under him and frowned, stepping into the room. "Maybe you should just sit back down for a bit, Agent. You don't look so good."

"I'm gonna take him back to our motel." Dean smiled at him. "He'll be fine. Promise." He pulled one of Sam's arms over his shoulder and got him moving, careful not jostle his jacket open and reveal the new injuries. "Thanks for the hospitality, Doc."

"George, Dean. George." Dr. Rescal corrected with a small smile. "Alright, go on just…give me a ring if you need a house call."

"Will do." Dean nodded and opened the door, guiding Sam out and into the hall.

Sam waited until they reached the stairs and were out of earshot. "Dean, we need to talk to the boyfriend still."

"We will." Dean assured him as they started up. "Or rather I will. Your ass is going to bed."

"What? No way, Dean." Sam glared over at him as they reached the landing. "You are not talking to him on your own. What if it IS him?"

"Then this is gonna be a very short job," Dean replied darkly as they reached the top of the stairs and opened the door, stepping outside.

Dean had Sam piled in the car in under a minute and cranked the heater when he started shivering. "So, what did you see?" He asked after a minute.

Sam sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. The sunlight was driving new shards of discomfort into his already pounding skull. "Another woman. Her name's Anne. She works at a…it's a camping store or something…I think." He stopped and tried to pull the details back into his mind. "She cheated on her husband with her boss."

"Naughty girl," Dean commented. "Anything else?"

"The shadows moved." Sam lowered his hand and looked over. "They sliced her up, Dean, just like Marie. She was in a…a storeroom."

"Ok. Anne. Camping store. Storeroom. And she likes to get kinky with the boss. That shouldn't be too tough to track down." Dean pulled in to their motel and parked next to their room. He got out and went around as Sam pushed his door open and then just sat there with his head in his hands. "You look like crap, dude."

"Gee, thanks," Sam groaned and didn't argue when Dean tugged him up out of the car. "In you go, Sasquatch."

Sam sat stoically through Dean invading his personal space, cleaning the wounds on his chest that were, thankfully, no more than deep scratches, checking the rest of him for more because he didn't believe Sam when he said there were no more, and shoving painkillers in his hand with orders to shut up and take them. Sam was biding his time. He lay back in the bed with his eyes closed and let the darkness soothe the headache that beat a tattoo behind them from the vision. He was dizzy still, the bed periodically spinning beneath him as he listened to Dean typing on the laptop on the other side of the room, trying to find the woman in Sam's vision.

"Ok, I think I got it." Dean looked over at his brother, lit by a sliver of light from the open bathroom door. He'd left the lights off in deference to the headache he knew was killing him. "Only one camping supply store in town worth talking about, and you said it was busy." He closed the laptop and stood, stretching. "I'll go find our girl first and then pay a visit to Marie's boyfriend."

"Let's go." Sam pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed. He had never planned on letting Dean go on his own.

"Where the hell you think you're going?" Dean stalked over to the bed and tried to push Sam back on to it, but he stubbornly refused to lie back down.

"Going with you," Sam glared up at him. "I'll sit in the car, let you take the lead, whatever, but I am not staying here and taking a damn nap while you go looking for the crazy, homicidal psychic. End of discussion."

"End of discussion?" Dean stared at him as Sam stood and held on to his arm, steadying himself before finally standing straight. "I could knock your ass out and tie you into the damn bed."

Sam smirked. "But you won't." He walked past Dean and did a fair impersonation of a straight line, he thought, as he went to the table and picked up his jacket. He slipped it on over the loose sweatshirt he wore in deference to his sore chest. "'Cause you're awesome."

"You are such a pain in my ass, little brother," Dean growled at him and shook his head. "Fine. But when you fall down and pass out, I'm leaving you there."

"Will not." Sam chuckled and opened the room door, waiting for Dean, and waved a hand outside. "Can we go now?"

Dean growled again in frustration, whipped his jacket off the bed where he'd tossed it, and went outside to the car while Sam chuckled. "Such a little bitch."

"Jerk." Sam smiled as he lowered himself into the passenger seat and worked to not show the pain he was feeling on his face. He couldn't afford for Dean to realize just how close to incapacitated he really was.

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Phillip's Camping Supply was, apparently, the hot ticket in Wichita that day. Dean had to drive around twice to find a parking spot and glared at all the 'Sale' signs lining the front windows. "It's like Wal-Mart for rednecks," he grumbled as he got out and watched Sam ease himself up out of the car. "You could stay here. Don't think I need a wing-man to find Mary Magdalene in there."

Sam snorted a laugh and looked over at him. "Biblical name calling? Really?"

Dean shrugged. "Not a lot to read in cheap motel rooms." He grinned and closed his door. "Come on if you're comin'. Oh! I could see if they've got those motorized carts for you!"

"Shut up," Sam sent a glare at him and closed his own door, heading for the store. "You're not funny."

"I'm hilarious. You have no sense of humor." Dean's grinned widened at the bitch-face Sam gave him.

The store was as busy inside as it looked. Harried looking clerks manned the two registers, and a small army of people migrated around the store like busy bees with carts, loaded with goodies. Dean went to one of the registers and tapped a clerk on the shoulder, a young man of maybe twenty, who turned to glare up at him. "Manager?" Dean asked.

"In the store…somewhere." The clerk said shortly and turned his back on him, waving a hand into the store. "Good luck finding him."

"Nice." Dean shook his head.

"Come on." Sam took his arm and pulled Dean with him. He knew what the area of the store in his vision looked like. He just needed to find it. "There were pup-tents set up in a mock camp, lots of boxes…" Sam trailed off as he walked further back in the large store through rows of shelves and came out in a large open area populated with a ring of small tents and a mock fire in the center. "This is it. That's him." Sam pointed to a tall man with a beer belly poking out beneath a ridiculous orange and green striped tie who was arguing with one of the tents, trying to straighten it and make it sit level.

"You see her?" Dean asked as he searched the dozen or so women and men milling around nearby.

"No." Sam shook his head and went to the manager. "Excuse me, sir."

"All questions about merchandise should be taken to the customer service desk." The manager said in a bored, irritated voice.

"Jerry." Sam used his name and smiled when he looked up in surprise.

"Do I know you?" Jerry asked and frowned, not recognizing the very tall man beside him.

"Uh, no. No." Sam smiled again. "I'm looking for Anne. Is she here today?"

Jerry rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath. "She's around here somewhere." He gave Sam a long, considering look. "You're not her husband. New boy toy?"

Dean snorted a laugh and patted his brother's shoulder. "Just friends, dude. We really need to find her."

Jerry looked as though he didn't believe them but shrugged. "Whatever. She just went to…"

A piercing scream rose up over the noise of the store and silenced everything, every voice, as it sounded again.

"No." Sam gasped and broke into a run for the back of the store.

"Sam!" Dean shouted and sprinted after him. "Wait!"

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_To Be Continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

_**CHAPTER 4** _

Dean caught up to his brother, grabbed his arm, and pulled him behind him. "You stay back, dammit!" He pulled the Desert Eagle from his back and ducked ahead of Sam and into the door to the storeroom at the back of the store. A third scream ripped from inside the dark room and abruptly cut off. "Anne?" Dean called. A rat scurried in front of his feet and he barely restrained the urge to kick it like a football. Dean searched the inky blackness with the light from the store at his back and frowned. He could almost see something writhing through the air, black on black, ahead of him.

"Hey!" Dean shouted into the darkness. The shadows swirled, revealing something white that fell to the floor with a dull thump. They turned, and Dean could almost feel the intent as it rushed toward him. Tendrils of shadow streaked out to curl around his forearms. Pain bloomed along his arms, and his gun dropped from nerveless fingers to clatter on the floor.

"Dean!" Sam rushed inside, saw the darkness climbing his brother's arms, and his eyes widened in shock. "No!" He reached out and sank his hands into the shadows. There was a moment of searing pain in his head and then a concussive thump to the air and the shadows shredded and vanished.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean slumped into his brother and caught Sam as he staggered. "You alright?"

Sam nodded. He cupped a hand over his nose and pointed. "Anne."

"Right. Shit." Dean pulled up his sleeves and found blood on his arms from several long, narrow cuts. He went cautiously forward and blinked in surprise as the light above flickered back to life. "Ah, hell." The light showed him the bloody and still form of a woman lying on the floor. Spatters of blood surrounded her and marked the stacks of boxes all around her. Dean dropped to his knees beside her and put a hand to her throat. "Holy crap. She's alive! Hey! Someone get the paramedics here!"

"She's alive?" Sam shuffled up beside his brother and looked down at her. The first flicker of relief blew through him and weakened his knees.

"Oh, my…I'm calling the police!" Jerry's voice yelled from behind them, and Sam turned to see his pale, shocked face as he backed away from the bloody mess with his cell phone in hand.

"She needs an ambulance," Sam told him. He watched Jerry go back to the door and shove the press of onlookers out as he yelled into the phone, "Dean!"

Dean glanced up and watched Sam sway dangerously. "Whoa." He shot to his feet and clamped his hands on his brother's arms. Sam had one hand clamped to his nose and his eyes closed. "Another nose bleed?" Sam nodded. "Are you having another vision? Dammit!" He looked around to find somewhere less public before his brother collapsed, but Sam shook his head.

"Not a vision," Sam said softly and got his eyes open. "Juth…head hurth an' my nothe." He coughed and his stomach turned, knowing it was blood clogging his throat. "Need a baffroom. Now."

Dean couldn't stop the smirk as Sam mangled his words beneath his hand. "Ok." He saw a towel sticking out of a box and tugged it free. "Here, use that." Dean moved them both aside as two women ran into the storeroom and pushed past them to fall beside Anne. "She's in good hands."

Sam nodded and followed Dean out into the store. The crowd of people parted to let them through, and Dean pulled him along the back wall toward a sign for the bathrooms. He shoved open the door, glad to find it empty, and Sam stumbled past him to drop next to the toilet a second before he emptied his stomach into it.

"Geez, man," Dean said sympathetically and knelt next to him. He put a gentle hand on the back of Sam's neck comfortingly while he heaved bile and blood into the bowl. Not for the first time, he wished their father had been less cryptic with his last ominous warning, but the son of a bitch had never been big on straight answers. It pissed him off that his Dad had known something about Sam and not just told him. This was Sam. He was Dean's responsibility, not John's. He snorted and shook his head. "How you doing, kiddo?"

Sam leaned back and, if not for his brother's hand at the back of his neck, he would have gone straight back to the floor. "I'll be ok."

"Eventually," Dean said grimly. He slid a hand under Sam's shoulder and pulled him back to his feet. "What are the odds we get out of here without getting corralled by the local P.D.?"

Sam sighed. "Slim and none." He heard the muffled sound of a siren. "Don't have my Fed badge. You?"

"Yeah." Dean patted his jacket pocket. "I'll get us out of here. Hang on." He leaned Sam against the wall and then went to the sink, grabbing a handful of paper towels and wetting them down. "Can't go out there with all that blood. Come here."

"Hey!" Sam swatted at his hands as Dean mopped at his face and only succeeded in making his brother laugh, the moment so reminiscent of the innumerable times Dean had wiped little Sammy's face when they were kids.

"That'll do." Dean tossed them into the toilet and flushed it. "Let's go. You walk?"

"Yes, I can walk, dammit," Sam glared at him.

Dean looked him over, glad to see only a couple spots of blood on his sweatshirt. He tugged his own sleeves further across his hands to hide the blood from his arms and opened the door. "Straight out the front. We run into any cops, I'll get us past." He wanted Sam out of there and away from the thing that was hurting him. He didn't buy that it was just gone. There was no reason for it to have stopped in the first place, and that made his teeth itch.

Luck was with them. Only an ambulance had arrived, and there were so many people either scared or curious milling around the store, they passed virtually unnoticed all the way outside and into the parking lot. They beat a hasty retreat to the car and slid in as the first police cruiser screamed in with sirens blaring.

"You think she'll be alright?" Sam asked, looking out his window at the store.

"I don't know." Dean sighed and backed out, leaving the chaos behind. "Whatever it was didn't get to finish with her. Maybe it'll leave her be."

Sam nodded but said nothing. He knew the chances of that actually happening. He rested his aching head against the window and went over what had happened in his head. He had felt something when he'd shoved his hands into the shadows impulsively. He hadn't actually had any idea what to do; he'd only known he couldn't stand by and watch while Dean was filleted in front of him. It had felt like something he'd done only once before, when saving Dean from being shot in the head by Max - a power that had blown through his mind like a whirlwind and then out of him. It had forced the shadows away and torn them apart. It had also come close to knocking him out.

"You alright over there?" Dean spared a glance from the road for Sam's pale face and frowned. He didn't like what he saw, and wondered how far he'd get if he tried to dump him at the motel room again. He snorted softly. Not very.

"I'll be fine." Sam pulled his head up off the window and looked over at him with a wan smile. "I'm just tired. We still have to see this Mark guy. He might be the one doing all this."

"Well, if he is, I don't get it." Dean shook his head. "Killing Marie I can kinda get, you know, act of passion or some crap. But what about the chick in the camp store?" He looked over to Sam. "I'll bet you he's got no connection to her at all."

Sam shrugged and then grimaced when it pulled the wounds on his chest. "I don't know. Maybe he'll tell us. Maybe all this is a…a mistake."

"A mistake? Are you serious?" Dean looked over at him in surprise. "Dude, two people are dead, and not peaceful dead either. Screaming, blood-bath dead. Mistake my ass."

"Maybe he can't control it!" Sam said, voice rising. "He may not even know he's doing this. We can't just assume he's evil, Dean."

"I'm not assuming anything, Sam. I'm going with my gut,and my gut says the bastard behind this means every bit of it." Dean glared out at the road.

Sam stared at him and then looked away finally. How could he explain to Dean that every one of these 'special' children they found that had turned murderous drove a cold wedge of fear deeper into his own heart. If they couldn't handle the powers they'd been given…how could he hope to? What chance did he have of not forcing Dean to have to kill him someday just as their father had warned him?

"Knock it off," Dean said suddenly.

Sam looked over in confusion. "Knock what off?"

"That. Thinking too hard." Dean raised a brow at him and nodded. "You're not gonna go dark side on me, Sammy. I don't give a flying crap what Dad said."

Sam's jaw opened, surprised. "How did you know…"

"That you're sitting over there angsting about whether or not I'm gonna have to gank you 'cause we've found yet another evil Jedi wannabe?" Dean smirked. "Dude, I can read you like a book. Now, knock it off 'cause that?" He gave a meaningful and stern glare at Sam. "That is never going to happen."

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure how to say how grateful he was for Dean's complete faith. At last he settled on a small smile and leaned back into the seat. "They're called Sith, not evil Jedi."

"Geek."

"Jerk."

"Shuddup, bitch."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

"Well, if he is rockin' the evil mind powers, he's not using them right," Dean commented as they stood outside the run down trailer that was home to Mark Kennedy, Marie's boyfriend. "This place is a dump."

Sam shook his head at the one-legged pink flamingo beside the stained, wooden stairs up to the door. A string of Christmas lights missing half its bulbs was hung along the front of the roof above a window papered over from the inside and the white paint on the trailer's body was stained and flaking in patches. "Maybe we should get a tetanus shot before we go in there."

Dean chuckled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come on." He tested the bottom step on the stairs. It creaked but held his weight, so he stepped up and rapped hard on the door. It rattled on its hinges, ready to fall off. "Mark Kennedy? Open up! FBI!"

"He's gonna climb out a window, dude." Sam admonished and heard doors slam on a few trailers nearby; people wanting no part of federal agents near their homes.

"Fine, upstanding citizen like him? Naw." Dean pounded again and grinned down at Sam when the door cracked open.

"What? What do you want?" Mark peered out at them with dark, shadowed eyes.

"We needed to ask you some questions about Marie Froman." Sam stepped over where Mark could see him and smiled. "It won't take long."

"More friggin' cops. Terrific." Mark rolled his eyes and opened the door. "Fine. Come in. Don't touch anything."

Dean eased past him into the trailer and snorted. "No problem." The interior was as shabby looking as the outside. Old newspapers and magazines were piled in the lone brown chair, and dirty dishes cluttered the tiny kitchen counter. The floor might have been brown carpet once but now resembled something that hadn't been cleaned in over a decade and the faded blue plaid couch was obviously being used as a bed and was held together with duct tape patches. "Real Better Homes and Gardens feel in here, dude."

"Don't like it, leave." Mark glared and dropped onto the couch. "I don't have anything new to tell you from the last fifteen times I've been asked. I wasn't at Marie's. I was at a stupid party." He stared down at the floor and sadness crawled across his face. "Stupid damn party while Marie…while she was…shit." He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked back up at them. "Maybe you assholes should stop bothering me and go find the bastard that killed her. She didn't deserve that."

Sam watched the emotions on Mark's face and couldn't believe the man had had anything to do with Marie's death. He was obviously crushed. "Mark," Sam knelt beside the couch, unwilling to actually sit on anything in the trailer. "Whoever did this to her, you might know them. We need you to think. Has there been anyone recently she's been worried about? Maybe someone from work? A customer?"

"You see anyone with her that gave you a bad vibe?" Dean touched the counter and wiped his fingers on his jacket. "Or maybe have any bad dreams lately?"

"Bad dreams?" Mark stared angrily up at them and then shook his head. "No. Look, there's no one. I mean, I don't go around her work. She says…said…she said it was better for me that way." He sniffed and ran a hand under his nose. "Cops don't like me. Boost one car when you're a kid, and they never forget." He rolled his eyes. "But I'd never hurt her. Not ever. She cared, man." He looked sincerely up into Sam's eyes. "She was special, you know?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. We know."

"She has an ex-fiancé." Mark said suddenly. "I don't know his name or anything. She wouldn't talk about him, but I know he scared her."

"An ex?" Dean's interest perked up. "You know anything about him?"

"No." Mark shook his head. "Like I said, she never wanted to talk about him. She'd just say to leave it, but he did something. I know he did, 'cause she always got this look on her face and then she'd check the locks on the doors and shit." He shrugged. "Find him. Maybe that's who did this to her."

"Thank you, Mark." Sam smiled and patted his shoulder before standing. His head swam a little, but the trailer was small and he easily found the wall to keep himself vertical without anyone being the wiser. "We'll let you know when we find something."

"Yeah, whatever." Mark dropped his head into his hands. "You guys all say that."

"Come on, Sam." Dean opened the trailer door and stepped out, then turned and watched his brother come out and carefully make his way down the wobbly steps. He took Sam's shoulder and steered him to the car. "You think I didn't see you almost fall over in there?"

Sam groaned and rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit." He kept a firm grip on Sam's arm as they walked to the car and so felt the exhausted tremors passing through him. "Motel. Research. Sleep for you."

"Dean." Sam sighed and let himself be shoved into the passenger seat. He was wiped out. He'd lost enough blood the last couple days he wasn't even sure how he was standing. "We need to go back to Marie's and search the house." He scowled when Dean shut the door on him and waited for his brother to come around the car and get behind the wheel. "There has to be something there to tell us who her ex is." Sam had that feeling in his gut that told him they were on to something. "I think it's him."

Dean said nothing, pulling out onto the road and headed for the motel. Obviously, Sam didn't realize he was the color of wet paper or that his hand, as he reached to turn the air vent and its heat on his face was shaking like a damn leaf. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and fought for control and not to just floor it out of town to try and protect him. "Have to wait until tonight. Cops are probably still at her house." He glanced over and met Sam's eyes with a firm stare. "You're sleeping until then and drinking all the damn orange juice I can shove down your throat."

Sam was surprised into a laugh and let his head rest on the seat back. "Haven't lost that much blood."

"I'm sorry; have you seen you in the mirror today?" Dean slapped his arm. "I've seen ghosts with more color, Sam."

"Whatever, dude." Sam refused to rise to the bait. He jerked in surprise from a light sleep when the car stopped and found they were at the motel and Dean was already opening his door. "Wow."

"Yeah; now tell me you don't need some friggin' sleep," Dean growled and waited for him to get out. "Go." He pointed to the open room door and followed him in.

Sam looked at his laptop on the table, shook his head, and went to his bed instead. He pulled his jacket off, rolled into it, and tried to find a position that didn't make his chest ache.

Dean went back out to the car and pulled a bag from the back seat. Sam hadn't even twitched when he'd stopped at the convenience store. He kicked the room door shut and pulled a jug of orange juice out of the bag. "Don't sleep yet." He ordered and quickly grabbed a cup from the bathroom. "You're drinking some of this first."

"You weren't kidding." Sam chuckled and pushed up so he was resting against the wall. He took the glass when Dean handed it to him and hungrily drank the juice. He held it up expecting Dean to take it back and rolled his eyes when Dean just poured more juice into it. "Geez, Dean. I'm not five, for crying out loud."

"Don't care. Drink." Dean smiled and set the jug on the nightstand. "I'll have a go at finding our mystery ex-fiancé while you get your beauty rest."

"How are your arms?" Sam asked as Dean slipped off his jacket and flannel and got a good look at his bloody wrists.

"Just scratches, mostly." Dean shrugged. "Could have been worse." There were a half dozen or so shallow cuts along his forearms. They burned but had long since stopped bleeding. He went into the bathroom and cleaned them out in the sink, pleased to see he wasn't going to have to do any awkward stitching. He shivered at the remembered feeling of being held immobile while what felt like knives had crawled up his skin, biting and slicing as they went, before Sam had shoved his hands in and stopped it. He scowled. That was something he needed to talk to Sam about later -just how he'd managed to stop the thing from killing him.

"You need me to look at them?" Sam asked when he came back.

Dean pointed sternly at the bed. "You are sleeping." He held up his arms so Sam could see them. "Nothin' to worry about."

Sam flipped him off with a smile and drank the second glass before setting it aside and sliding back down into the bed. He watched Dean sit at the table and take out the laptop. He closed his eyes, opened them, and frowned. Dean wasn't at the table anymore. "Dean?" Sam pushed up on his elbows and peered around the room. "Dean?" He was just there a second ago, Sam thought and felt the first niggle of worry enter his mind. He couldn't have just vanished. Sam tried to will himself to believe that, because weird shit like someone vanishing could not POSSIBLY be real….yeah, right.

The light on the table beside the bed flickered. Sam saw the white light from the screen of the laptop flicker and go out as shadows began to seep from the corners and swallow the room in darkness.

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_To Be Continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

_**CHAPTER 5** _

Sam shoved himself up the bed against the wall, scrambling to get his feet away from the darkness oozing over the end of the bed toward him while panic ripped through him. "Dean!" He yelled and worried that it had already taken his brother. He looked up and gasped as more shadows crept down the wall above his head. "No!" He tried to get off the bed and grunted in pain as his feet were wrapped up. Terror took his breath away as he tried to roll clear and the darkness fell from the ceiling like a blanket to cover him.

"Dean! Dean!" Sam screamed it as the first pain tore into him. He thrashed to escape, desperate to survive and find his brother, to save him. "God! Dean!" He swung at them with his arms, but they were held fast. Sam screamed out in agony as pain beat into his head. He thrashed on the bed in the shadow's grip and tumbled over the side to the floor.

Sam hit with a gasp, his entire body jerking, and his eyes flew open on another scream that choked in his throat in absolute shock. "Dean?"

"Jesus, Sammy." Dean watched his brother's eyes shoot open unseeing before finally staring up at him. He knelt over Sam, pinning him to the bed and holding his arms. He'd started screaming and thrashing beneath the blankets. "You back with me?" Sam was shaking under him and covered in a sweat.

Sam nodded shakily. "Uh…yeah." He closed his eyes and took several trembling breaths before opening them again and making sure Dean was still there. "Get off me."

Dean let his arms go and climbed off of him to sit beside him. He ran a hand over Sam's forehead under his sweat damp hair and frowned. "Scared the crap out of me, Sammy." His skin was over-warm and clammy. "Started screaming my name."

Sam nodded and swallowed noisily. "Nightmare."

"No kidding." Dean pulled the blankets loose from him. They'd become tangled around him during the nightmare and rubbed a hand over his own face to try and settle his nerves. He grabbed the hem of Sam's t-shirt and pulled it up to get a look at his chest.

"Hey! Dude, come on." Sam shoved at his hands.

"Just checking." Dean pulled his shirt back down, satisfied there were no new wounds and smirked but he sobered quickly. "You alright?"

Sam nodded. He pushed himself up so he was sitting, not wanting to be lying down with the memory of the nightmare fresh in his mind. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." He looked surreptitiously around the room, relieved that all the lights were on. He wasn't sure he could have looked at a shadow just then without flinching. "That was…really vivid."

"I gathered." Dean squeezed his shoulder and went back to the table. His own hands shook a little. Sam screaming his name had shocked him so hard he'd nearly fallen out of his chair trying to get to him. And the way he'd fought…Dean shuddered once and sat down in front of the laptop. This job was costing his little brother dearly if the dark bruises under his eyes were anything to go by.

"You find anything yet?" Sam asked and swung his legs off the bed to the floor. He clapped a hand around his head when it spun briefly. The orange juice had helped with the nausea and dizziness, but he was still nowhere near a hundred percent. Blood loss was a bitch to counteract.

"Not really." Dean sighed and flipped the laptop closed. "Marie was not a fan of social media." He chuckled. "We're gonna have to search her house. Ten bucks says we'll find a picture of the crazy ex in her underwear drawer."

"Dude," Sam groaned. "Top shelf of her closet."

"You're on." Dean grinned. "You up for it now?" It was nearly eleven o'clock. Sam had slept the rest of the day away until the nightmare had woken him screaming. He'd been debating sneaking out to do it himself and leave Sam asleep, but then decided, about thirty seconds before his little brother had had a full-on screaming night terror, that he didn't want him out of his sight. Not to mention his fear that Sam could have another vision alone, without him there to make sure he didn't bleed to death. He shook his head and watched Sam stand up slowly from his bed.

"Yeah. I'm good." Sam smiled and sat back down to pull his shoes on. He saw Dean watching him and rolled his eyes. "Ok, I'm tired as hell and my chest aches, but I'm good. Alright?"

Dean nodded. "Better be. Come on. The house should be clear by now."

The drive to Marie's went quietly most of the way until Dean couldn't take not knowing anymore. "Sam. What happened in that storeroom?"

"Huh?" Sam looked over, confused. "What do you mean? You were there."

Dean sighed and shook his head. "You know what I mean." He looked over meaningfully at his brother who avoided his eyes.

Sam took a breath. "I…uh, I'm not sure." He chanced a look at Dean and saw that he wasn't buying it. "Alright. It was like when…when Max was going to shoot you. When I saw it. You remember?"

"You mean when he had you trapped in that closet." Dean nodded. "And you said you moved whatever was blocking it like Max did."

"Yeah." Sam rubbed a hand over his forehead. "That's what it felt like. I don't really know what I did. I just…I had to stop it. It was going to kill you."

"That's why the nosebleed," Dean commented, softly to himself before looking over again. "It hurt, what you did?"

Sam nodded miserably. "Yeah. It hurt like hell, and I'd just as soon not do it again." He huffed out a breath in irritation. "I didn't try to do it. I swear, Dean. It just happened. I was…it scared me when I saw the shadows wrapping you up."

Dean nodded his head and watched the road. He understood. He did. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do if Sam's life was in danger, but it frightened him. He wasn't frightened _of_ Sam, though he was sure his brother thought he was. He was scared of the power and what it did to him, what it could mean down the road. Every time he thought he understood at least a little of what Sam was capable of, something happened to renew his fears for his little brother. He felt helpless and frustrated, not having even a hint of a clue as to where to begin to try to help, and Dean did not do "helpless" well, especially where Sam was concerned.

"Dean." Sam tapped his arm and pointed ahead of them to Marie's house. Her blue Beetle still sat on the street, and parked behind it was a police cruiser. "Shouldn't they be gone by now?"

"Crap." Dean parked the Impala on the other side of the street and looked up at the house. "No lights on. Maybe it's just there to deter gawkers." He reached into his jacket, pulled out a black ID wallet, and handed it to Sam. "In case it's not and there's a cop in there."

"Alright." Sam climbed out of the car and studied the house. "I don't like this." When they'd visited the house earlier in the day, it had just looked like a house to him. Now, as he walked across the street toward it, he felt something sinister, almost like the house was looking back through dark, shuttered windows.

Dean stopped at the trunk, popping it open and grabbed a bag with salt, lighter fluid, a silver knife, and he grabbed two shotguns and extra rounds of rock salt shells. He wanted to be ready for whatever came after them, supernatural or otherwise. He jogged across the street to catch up with his brother who was peering into the cop car.

"It's empty," Sam told him and shrugged.

"Good." Dean peered up and down the street but didn't see anything out of place. "Wasn't there another door in the back off the kitchen?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded and headed around the side of the house, his senses alert for anything out of the ordinary. The house was dark and silent as was the street, and still his nerves told him there was danger. Dean handed him one of the sawed off shotguns and he took it gratefully. Its weight in his hands lent some measure of security.

They crept up onto the small back porch and Sam tried the door knob. It opened. He turned with raised brows to Dean before going inside. "Kind of sloppy of the local P.D. not to lock up the place when they left," he whispered.

Dean nodded and went through the kitchen and down the hall toward the stairs. "You go up." He waited for Sam to start up the stairs and then checked the rest of the first floor. Marie's blood showed up darkly in the beam from his flashlight as he switched it on. There was nothing living he could see downstairs, and Dean followed Sam up to the second floor.

Sam peered carefully around the corner and down the hall, shining his flashlight and nodding when it was clear. He passed two rooms as Dean came up behind him and gestured with the flashlight. "Found her bedroom."

"Well, you wanted her closet." Dean said softly and smirked as they stepped in. "I got the naughty drawer." Marie's bed was a luminous white in the darkness of the room. Every surface he shined his light on showed signs of having been fingerprinted by the police, covered in a fine layer of colored dust. He went to the wide, dark wood dresser and pulled the top drawer open, smirking at the collection of underwear. "I feel like a stalker."

"You are a stalker," Sam chuckled and opened the closet door. It was a walk-in, and the absolute darkness in the small space made his skin crawl with fleeting memories of his nightmare. The hanging string from a light brushed his face and he pulled it, clicking it on and blinked against the glare until his eyes adjusted. Her clothes were neatly hung, the floor clean, but the shelves above the hanging clothes were cluttered with boxes. He pulled one down and opened the lid. It was full of ridiculously colored fuzzy socks, and he smiled sadly for the woman who had collected them. He set it on the floor and grabbed the next one down.

Dean sighed and moved on to the next drawer, having found nothing hidden with her undergarments. He'd been sure he'd find something there and very much wanted to beat his brother to the punch.

"Found it."

"Dammit," Dean rolled his eyes when Sam called out from the closet.

Sam stuck his head out and smirked. "Picture of her ex…in the closet. Like I said."

"Shut up." Dean pushed the drawer shut and stepped into the light spilling from the open closet door. Sam had a collection of boxes on the floor and one open in his hands.

"She had this one shoved in the back, behind everything else and duct-taped shut." He held up a hanging piece of tape and let it fall before taking a stack of photographs and giving them to Dean to sift through.

"Whoa," Dean commented as he flipped through the pictures. Marie was in all of them with a man whose face had either been blacked out with marker or scratched off. "If she really wanted to forget the guy this bad, why keep these?"

"So she wouldn't forget her mistake," Sam said sadly as he picked through more photos in the box. "Jess…" He cleared his throat from the sudden lump of grief there. "Jess said she used to have a picture of a guy she dated and hated. Kept it so she wouldn't forget to pay more attention to who she chose."

Dean reached out and laid a hand on Sam's arm in support then smiled. "Didn't stop her from shacking up with your mutant ass." He slapped Sam's shoulder lightly. "She had good taste, Sammy," he added softly and went back to the photos in his hands and studiously didn't look up at the sad gratitude on his brother's face.

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, smiling. His smile turned to a frown as he pulled on photo out of the box and held it up into the light. "Holy…Dean, we met him." Sam held up a picture and turned it so he could see it. "Oh, man. I gave him her dog."

"Shit." Dean stared wordlessly at the photo of the sergeant they had met the day before outside the house and scowled. "Funny he didn't mention that. It's not in the reports."

Sam turned the picture back and looked at it. He hadn't paid much attention to his appearance before, but now that he looked, he realized the sergeant must be around his age. "It's him, Dean. I know it. It has to be. He…he…" Sam's voice trailed off on a hiss of pain. The box of photos fell from his hands to scatter across the closet floor as he wrapped both hands around his head.

"Sam?" Dean grabbed hold of him and watched as his brother's eyes rolled back into his head while blood began to fall from his nose. "Shit. Shit! Not again. Sammy?" He grunted in surprise when Sam's legs gave out and he collapsed into his arms. Dean lowered him gently to the floor and sat him up against his chest, holding a hand across his forehead while his nose dripped blood onto the floor and his legs. "Come on, Sammy," Dean begged softly and dropped his forehead to rest in Sam's hair for a moment, needing the comfort that he was there and alive. He raised his head back up and reached above him to tug a scarf from one of the hangers. He pressed it against Sam's nose to try and slow the bleeding. "You're ok, kiddo. You're gonna be ok. Just wake up now."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_Sam groaned and rolled his head back. The movement made him feel as though shards of glass were shifting inside his head. He blinked his eyes open and saw Dean leaning worriedly over him. He brought a hand up to brush away the thing covering his face._

" _Leave it, Sam," Dean said softly. "You alright? Another vision?"_

_Sam nodded weakly and hissed as a myriad of new pains made themselves known across his chest and back. "Dean…here…he's h-here."_

" _Who, Sammy?" Dean pulled him in more closely to him and studied his brother's glazed, pain-filled eyes. "Who's here?"_

_Sam's eyes widened fearfully as the light above them flickered and he raised a hand to point at it._

_Dean jerked his head up to the failing light. "Oh crap."_

_The light went out as shadows began to creep down from the ceiling and in the closet door from the bedroom. They reached out to the brothers, and Sam turned to watch as a figure appeared behind them and raised an arm. He saw something silver and then there was the deafening bang of a gun as Sam felt something hot rip through his chest and out his back. He felt Dean jerk behind him and cry out as his arms lost their grip and Sam slid to the floor. He rolled his head and found Dean in the narrow beam of his discarded flashlight._

" _No!" Sam gasped even as he felt himself going cold. Dean's eyes stared at him from inches away, dead. The shadows moved closer. The flashlight went out, and Sam screamed his loss out as they swallowed him up._

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

"Sam? Sammy." Dean gently rolled his brother's head back as he stirred finally and waited, watching his eyes shift beneath his lids. "Come on, dude. That's it." He'd spent the last ten minutes waiting for him to die, for his pulse to fade beneath his fingers and his breathing to stop, convinced that this would be the time he lost him. This was just so wrong, all of it. This wasn't supposed to happen like this. "Sam." Dean gave him a gentle shake.

Sam groaned softly, his head rolling in the crook of Dean's arm. Pain slashed through his skull that drove tears from the corners of his eyes as vision-driven panic swept through him. He forced his eyes open and found Dean's worried face inches from his own. "Dea…"

"Right here, kiddo." Dean pressed the scarf against his nose and knocked Sam's hand away when he tried to push it off. "Leave it," He ordered softly.

"No." Sam wrapped his hand over Dean's around the cloth and pulled. "Dean…he's coming. Sergeant….saw it."

"Saw what?" Dean frowned. "You're not making a lot of sense here, Sam." He put a hand on Sam's back to support him and jumped at the feel of fresh blood. "What the hell?"

"No time." Sam knew what was coming. They were going to die, and he couldn't make his scattered thoughts cooperate long enough to explain. He had no time. The light above them flickered, and Sam gasped in a fearful breath as Dean tried to pull him more securely against his chest and stop his struggling.

"Dammit, Sam, just sit still for a minute," Dean glared down at him and then whipped his head up as the light flickered again. He squinted, unsure if he'd actually seen a shadow move near the ceiling. "Sam?"

Sam ignored the light and looked out the door. That was where the danger would come from. He squirmed in Dean's grip and freed his right arm to reach behind his brother as the shadows grew. He felt Dean stiffen in surprise and knew he was watching them pour down from the ceiling. Sam had eyes only for the door, while his hand found the small of Dean's back. The darkness swelled into the bedroom and began to ooze into the closet, and Sam waited as Dean cursed above him. His vision was blurry, but it was clear enough. Sam saw the moment the figure appeared behind the shadows. He saw the man's arm raise, and Sam ripped the Desert Eagle from Dean's back, shoved his brother down as he brought his own gun up and fired.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted as Sam shoved him to the side a moment before he felt him take his gun and shoot out into the bedroom. A second later, another shot sounded, the noise deafening in the confined space. Dean reflexively caught Sam as he fell back into him. "Sam!" The light above them burst back to life and flooded the closet with its glow. The shadows burst apart and vanished.

"What the hell just happened?" Dean demanded and pulled Sam up against him again.

"He was here." Sam closed his eyes, speaking softly and breathing through his nose. "Sergeant…was going to…kill us. Kill you. I h-had to s-stop him."

"Sam?" Dean eased back so he could see him better in the light and stared at the blood flowing from his left shoulder. "Shit, Sammy! Are you shot?" He fumbled to pull Sam's jacket away from his chest and get a look.

"Think so." Sam fought the lassitude that began to spread over him. They weren't safe yet. "We have to get out of here. Dean. Please." He felt a terrible sense of foreboding and worried the longer they stayed, the more likely the sergeant would be back to finish the job. This was one vision Sam was going to make sure didn't come to pass. "He killed you. He killed you," Sam repeated softly and didn't realize a tear had tracked down his face. "He shot us and you die."

"Ok, tiger." Dean sucked in a deep breath and tried to find his calm. That Sam couldn't make up his mind on whether it was past or present wasn't helping. "I'm ok, Sammy. We both are." He tunneled a hand into his brother's hair to try and settle them both. "It didn't happen. You stopped it." He reached down then and pulled his gun from Sam's hand where he still gripped it firmly. "Let it go, Sam. I got it. I've got you. It's ok."

Sam shook his head but let Dean have the weapon back. He wrapped his left hand around Dean's bicep and pulled. "Have to go. Now."

"Alright. Alright." Dean didn't want to argue with him. There was naked fear on Sam's face and a haunted look in his eyes. It took him two tries to find his feet and pull Sam with him, and when he did, Sam almost went back down to the floor on rubbery legs. "Am I gonna have to carry you outta here?"

"No. No." Sam slid his right arm over his brother's shoulders and clamped his left hand into the front of Dean's shirt in spite of the pain radiating from the bullet wound in his shoulder. "Let's go." He looked over and nodded. "Keep the gun out."

"No argument there." Dean eased them back out into the bedroom, leading with the gun. Finding it empty, he got them into the hall with Sam hanging off his shoulder and only the Winchester stubborn streak keeping him awake and walking. Every play of light and shadow as they moved put Dean on edge. He expected any moment to hear the wail of sirens. It would be their word against the sergeant's, and he knew who the cops would believe.

"Dean?" Sam asked as his head drooped.

"Right here," Dean reassured him as they reached the top of the stairs. He looked down them and then at his brother and sighed. "Ok, Sammy. Sorry about this, but we don't have time for you to shuffle."

"Dean, wha'?" Sam asked and grunted in surprise and pain when Dean turned him and tipped him over a shoulder. The sudden change in position rushed what little blood he had left into his head and he lost his battle with consciousness.

Dean moved as quickly down the steps as he dared with his brother perched over his shoulder. He slowed at the bottom of the stairs and brought the gun up. The front door was standing open. The light from the street lamp outside showed dark, glistening drops leading in across the hall and outside.

"Nice shooting, Sammy," Dean said softly with a grim smile. He decided to save time and follow the same path out the front. He reached the Impala and pulled the back door open, lowered Sam down and awkwardly pushed him in across the seat. "Hang on." Dean pulled of his leather jacket as he went around the other side, opened the door, and folded it up under his brother's head. "Just hang on, Sam." He closed his eyes for a moment at the sight of his little brother's too-pale, too-still face and blood-soaked shirt. Choking back the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, he slid behind the wheel with eyes watching for every twitch of shadow on the dark street and didn't feel better until the Impala's engine was rumbling beneath him and taking them away from Marie's house.

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_To Be Continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

_**CHAPTER 6** _

Dean pulled up at a stop light down the road from their hotel and turned to check on Sam behind him. "Hey, kiddo. You still with me?" He pulled Sam over and moved his jacket aside to get another look at his shoulder and scowled. The bullet had taken Sam high in the shoulder. It looked to have missed everything vital but was still bleeding through the hasty bandage Dean had put over it. Add that to the post-vision nosebleed Sam had suffered and his little brother was far too pale for his liking and deeply unconscious.

"Dammit." Dean made a decision as the light turned green and headed for the coroner's office instead of the motel. "Time to take Dr. Rascal up on his offer of help."

He might have considered taking Sam to the nearest hospital, but with a member of the local police force on a murdering spree, there was no way he could trust they'd be safe there. He drove with one hand over the back of the seat on his brother's neck, his fingers resting lightly on his pulse. It was weaker than it should be and his breathing was shallow which made Dean press a little harder on the gas.

He pulled up finally behind the coroner's office and parked in the lot next door behind a semi. Dean wanted to hide the Impala from the police station that sat in the same building. He got out and pulled open the back door to kneel by Sam's head, roughly pushing back the fear that seemed to clench around his heart seeing Sam so still…so pale…so…..No. He was not going there…not an option. Not ever. He shook it off and refocused on his brother.

"Ok, Sam. I really need you to wake up and walk in there with me." Dean gave him a gentle shake and was reward with a moan. "That's my boy. Come on, Sammy. Rise and shine."

"Dean?" Sam's voice was low, barely audible and heavy with pain and confusion. "Wha's goin' on?"

"Gonna get you fixed up, but I need you to get up on those flamingo legs. Can you do that?" Dean smiled when Sam nodded quickly. "Ok. Just let me get you up. Let me do the work. Here we go." Dean slid his arms under his brother and pulled as carefully as he could until he had Sam sitting and panting in the seat. "Easy, buddy. Breathe through it." He bent and pulled Sam's legs out, and then drew his good arm around his neck and wrapped his arms around Sam's chest. "Going up."

"Kay." Sam gasped as he was tugged to his feet and fought to keep his legs under him while the world swayed and darkened, threatening to take him back under.

"Take it easy." Dean squeezed a hand at the back of Sam's neck when his head thumped into his shoulder and grunted, taking most of his weight. "All you gotta do is get inside and down the stairs. You can do that."

Sam nodded into his brother's shoulder and took back some of his weight. Raising his head was a massive effort, but he managed and then focused all his attention on the burning pain in his shoulder, letting it ground him. "I'm good. Le's go."

Dean shut the door and got them both moving around the semi and to the building. He scanned the parking lot and the area with acute paranoia that fifty cops could come pouring out any time to arrest them for shooting a fellow officer. He breathed a relieved sigh when they got inside the building without being seen. Good thing for them it was after midnight. He just hoped the doctor would still be down there. If not, he'd be raiding the medical supplies.

Sam looked up and around as they shuffled down the stairs and his eyes widened. "Dude." He stumbled to a stop at the bottom and glared over at his brother. "M'not dead yet."

Dean chuckled and shoved him into motion again. "Obviously, if you're quoting Holy Grail." He hitched Sam's arm up higher on his shoulder with a smile. "Doc said to come back if we needed his help. We need him." His smile faded as he looked at Sam's translucent, bloodless skin. "Didn't wanna transfuse you in a damn motel room, dude."

"Oh." Sam nodded and let his head fall forward wearily. "Z'at why I'm so sleepy?"

"Yeah. No sleeping. You really need to work on keeping that red stuff on the _inside._ " Dean pulled him to a stop at Dr. Rescal's office door and tried the knob, happy when it turned and he pushed it open. "I mean it, Sammy. No sleeping yet. You stay awake."

"Hello?"

Dean stuck his head back out the door and smiled as Dr. Rescal appeared out of a door farther down. "Hey, Doc. Remember when you said call if we needed anything?"

"Oh, my…what happened to him?" George jogged down to them and reached for Sam's other arm to help.

"Whoa, not that one, Doc." Dean warned. "He's, uh…he's been shot."

"Shot?" George's voice rose in surprise as he followed them into his office and then helped Dean lay Sam out on the couch. "Good God."

"He's lost a lot of blood." Dean caught his brother's head before it could flop back and eased it to the arm of the couch. "You still with me?"

Sam nodded and let his eyes close.

"Agent?" Dr. Rescal leaned over the young man and pried an eyelid up for a look. "I'm going to need you to stay conscious if you can. He should be in a hospital," He turned and whispered to Dean. "He needs a transfusion from the looks of this." He waved at Sam's blood-soaked left side.

"I know, but we can't." Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair, unaware of the blood spotting it from his brother and fixed the older man with a stare. "I need to trust you."

"You can, of course," Dr. Rescal said quickly and went to his desk, pulling his black bag out again. "Who did this?"

Dean sighed. "You're not gonna like it."

"I already don't like whoever did this to your partner," George said softly as he sat beside Sam again. "Help me sit him up so we can get these shirts off."

Dean nodded and moved Sam forward so he was sitting, wincing with each pained grunt as the doctor got his jacket and flannel off his left arm.

"We found out Marie had a crazy, obsessed, ex-boyfriend." Dean lowered Sam back to lie against the arm of the couch and kept a hand on his good shoulder. "Went back to her place to find evidence of the guy. We did."

"Shot Dean," Sam muttered, his head tossing as Dr. Rescal cut up the sleeve of his t-shirt to reach the wound. "Killed him."

"Dude. I'm right here." Dean leaned down where Sam could see him and tapped his cheek. "Sammy? He's a little out of it."

"Not surprised." George shook his head sadly as the bullet wound was revealed. "Through-and-through, so that's good. I won't have to go digging for it." He placed a gauze pad on the back of Sam's shoulder and another to the front and pressed, making him moan. "Sorry, son. Lay easy now."

"Can't you give him something for the pain?" Dean carded a hand through Sam's shaggy hair to soothe him.

George shook his head. "Not yet. He's lost a lot of blood. I don't want to overload his system. You happen to know his blood type?"

"We're a match. You can use me." Dean hooked a chair over with his foot and sat beside the head of the couch where he could keep a hand on his brother and an eye on what the doctor was doing. He pulled his jacket off and the shirt under it leaving him in short sleeves.

"What happened to you?" George immediately clamped a hand around Dean's left wrist and pulled it up, inspecting the bandages that wrapped both of his forearms.

"Uh, happened when we were saving the lady in the camping store today," Dean shrugged and pulled his arm free. "It's fine, Doc. Really. Nothing but scratches."

The doctor took Dean's arm again and scowled at him. "I'm looking. Deal with it."

Dean rolled his eyes and made himself sit still while George looked under the bandages on both his wrists and finally sighed and sat back. "Told you."

George smirked and nodded. "Well, given the way you two keep showing up on my doorstep, I had to check." He gestured at Sam.

"He's the one who's jeopardy-friendly." Dean snorted a laugh and made the doctor chuckle.

"Here. Keep pressure on this for a sec." George waited for Dean's hands to replace his on his partner's shoulder before he dashed out and down the hall. He collected the supplies he'd need to stitch the agent up and transfuse them and thought again that this was a mistake. If he were responsible, he would call an ambulance for the man right now. He paused with his hand hovering over the phone and then sighed. "Damn." The look on Dean's face assured him that would be a mistake. There was something he didn't know yet, and the man was obviously leery of telling him. He picked up the last of what he'd need and ran back to his office.

"How is he?" George asked as he pulled an end table with him and set it beside the couch before sitting next to Sam again.

"The same." Dean watched the doctor setting up various things on the little table - tubing, needles, gauze, disinfectant - and sighed. Donating blood always made his head hurt and Sam was going to need a lot of it.

George laid out a suture kit and soaked a pad in disinfectant. "Move the gauze and hold him down best you can while I clean these. Sam? This is going to hurt." He got the barest of nods and smiled. "Good man. Here we go."

Dean clamped his hands over Sam's good shoulder when he jerked as the disinfectant burned its way into the bullet wounds. "Take it easy, Sammy."

"Crap!" Sam's eyes flew open. "Dean?" He tilted his head and only then took a breath, seeing his brother's face hovering over his. He'd been floating in a nightmare where his vision had come true.

"Right here, kiddo." Dean smiled down at him. "You remember where we are?"

Sam looked over at George and nodded. "Still not dead yet." He closed his eyes on Dean's chuckle and gritted his teeth through the pain.

George smiled at the exchange and set the now bloodied pads aside. He picked up a needle and syringe and slid it deftly into the skin around the wounds. "Don't usually work on patients who are still breathing." He smirked up at Dean. "Don't worry. I was a damn good doctor once for the living."

"Why the change?" Dean asked, listening to Sam's breathing slowly ease as the local anesthetic took hold.

"Someone needs to speak for the dead too." George shrugged and picked up a suture. "You were telling me how this happened?" He raised his brows at Dean before bending to Sam's shoulder.

"Right." Dean tightened his grip on Sam's shoulder as the suture needle made its first pass. "We were at her house and found pictures of him, her ex. We recognized him." He paused and watched George. "We met him at the house that morning. He was one of the cops outside."

George's hand jerked and he stared up at Dean. "Are you serious? An officer did this?" He gestured to Sam's shoulder in complete dismay.

Dean nodded. "Near as we can figure, the guy went Fatal Attraction on her after she dumped him and started dating Mark Kennedy. He got the drop on us tonight." He shivered looking down at Sam and remembering the moment the guns had gone off and Sam had fallen into him. "Would have killed us if not for Sam."

"That's why no hospital," George said softly and shook his head. He bent back to his sutures. "Which one? Which officer?"

"Just like that? You believe us?" Dean asked, incredulous.

George glanced back up at him and then back to his work. "You're federal agents and it's kind of hard to dismiss the evidence in front of my eyes." He spared a smile for Dean. "So who is it?"

"A sergeant. We don't know his name yet." Dean growled. "Won't be hard to find though. Sam hit him. I saw the blood trail leading out of Marie's house."

George flinched again with shock and made himself finish the stitches before he sat back and looked up at Dean. "Sergeant? You're sure?" Realization rolled through him like an avalanche. "Oh, my God."

"You know who it is, don't you?" Dean's eyes pierced into his. "Tell me, please."

George took a deep breath to settle himself under Dean's scrutiny. "His wife is in the hospital right now. She was attacked at the camping store today."

"His…Anne." Dean rocked back in his chair as the pieces fell into place. "Holy crap."

"Yeah." George nodded stiffly and then shook himself. "First thing's first. Your partner needs blood now. Get comfortable."

Dean swallowed back the rage that made him want to bolt out of there and go find the guy, now they knew who he was. "He killed his mistress when she dumped him and then went after his own wife." He shook his head. "I just don't get people, man." He sat back and let the doctor hook up a complicated series of tubes to his arm and then to his brother's, grimacing at the bite of the needle and the feel of his blood pumping out through the tube and into Sam.

"We'll give him two units. That should bring his blood pressure back up where I'd like to be. You'll be a little light-headed for a while but you're big enough."

"You take as much as he needs, Doc. You hear me?" Dean said forcefully.

George looked at him thoughtfully for a second. "I think two will be sufficient. Can't have you passing out on me as well." He smirked at Dean, and patted a hand to his shoulder. "Only have the one couch." He smiled when Dean laughed and leaned over his partner. "Sam? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," Sam responded softly, on the verge of sleep.

"I'm going to give you something for the pain." George smiled down at his bleary eyes. "It's ok for you to sleep now. In fact I'm ordering it."

"Thanks." Sam rolled his head over to rest against Dean's forearm where his brother's hand still clasped his shoulder and let sleep take him.

"How are you going to handle this?" George asked as he set the needle and painkiller aside and stripped off his surgical gloves.

"I'm honestly not sure." Dean looked down at the top of Sam's head. He was half-tempted to pack Sam up and just leave town but that was no good. His brother would still have to deal with the visions each time the sergeant killed someone. "It's our word against a local officer. Feds or not, that ain't gonna go over well."

George nodded sadly. "You're right, but the fact it's his wife in the hospital and his mistress in my morgue…Chief Jones won't be able to ignore that."

Dean heard the desperate need for faith in the doctor's voice and nodded for him. He didn't believe that, but obviously George needed to just then. "We'll figure it out."

A headache started behind his eyes. He started to raise a hand to rub at his forehead and smirked, realizing he didn't have a free one. His left arm was connected to Sam and his right was being used as a pillow.

"If you don't mind my saying…" George nodded to Sam and raised his brows. "You two act more like…brothers than partners." He looked down and picked at an invisible spot on his green scrub top. He looked back up at Dean under his brows, noting the wary surprise there. "Also, you should know I, uh…I checked you two out after Sam collapsed earlier."

Dean's face darkened and he scowled. "If this is your way of saying you're gonna call the locals and bust us, I _will_ get Sam out of here before that happens."

"Whoa! Dean." George put his hands up in surrender, trying to placate him. "I would never do such a thing. Look." He sighed and lowered his hands. "Two things were very obvious to me the moment you boys walked in here. One, you're not the kind of federal agents I'm used to seeing; and, two, you're obviously working to solve this case." He smiled. "I'm not a cop, Dean. I don't have to play by the rules, strictly speaking, and given that it was you two who saved Anne Gatsby today, I'm inclined very much to trust you."

Dean studied his face for a moment and saw only honesty. He smiled. "Thanks, Doc. That means a lot."

"So will you tell me who you two really are?" George asked softly.

Dean smirked and shook his head. "Better you don't know. We do save people. It's kind of the family business."

"Well, I think you're going to be due some time off." George nodded at Sam. "That shoulder's going to need a few days at least before he can use it with any effectiveness again. Ideally, a few weeks."

"Right." Dean rolled his eyes and regretted it as his head spun for a second. "Time off ain't exactly in the cards, doc. Not for us."

"Put your head down. You'll feel better." George reached over and gave Dean's shoulder a little nudge toward the arm of the couch. "You still have about a unit to go. Go on."

"Ok, but only 'cause I'm tired," Dean said in a grumpy tone and set his forehead down to lean against the arm of the couch beside Sam's head.

George smirked and sat back again to monitor them. "Of course."

Sam slept, Dean kept his eyes closed with his head beside his brother's while the room gently spun, George watched over them both carefully with a hand around Sam's wrist monitoring his pulse, and so none of them noticed when the light in the hall outside the office flickered.

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_To Be Continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

_**CHAPTER 7** _

Dean jerked his head up when he felt a hand on his arm. "Huh?"

"Easy." George smiled. "Just disconnecting you. How do you feel?"

"Like I just topped up my little brother." Dean sat back and blinked a few times to clear his vision. "How is he?" His right arm was numb beneath Sam's head. He wiggled the fingers resting on his brother's shoulders trying to encourage some blood flow.

"Much better." George set the tubing aside and affixed a small bandage to Dean's arm. "Blood pressure is in the realm of normal, though still low. His temperature's a bit high, but that's to be expected. I'll write you a prescription for antibiotics if I can find my scrip pad." He chuckled and got up, going to his desk. "Oh, and painkillers. He'll be needing those for a few days. Where did I put that stupid thing?"

"Guess your typical patients don't have much need for prescriptions," Dean smirked and used his free hand to roll Sam's head off his arm. He moved around to the doctor's vacated seat beside his brother and sat, shaking the feeling back into his arm. "Sammy?" Dean laid a hand along the side of his face, feeling the slightly too-warm skin. "Hey. Sam. Come on back now, dude."

"Between blood loss and the pain killer I gave him, waking him up might be difficult," George pointed out from behind his desk. "Ah ha! Found it!" He waved a small, green notepad in the air and shook his head. "Always the last place you look."

"He'll wake up for me," Dean said surely. "Sam." He tapped Sam's cheek and spoke sharply in his ear. A few moments later Sam rewarded him with a groan as his eyes fluttered slowly open. "About time you decided to join the party." Dean smiled.

"S'a party?" Sam frowned and looked around. "Morgue?"

"Yep. Doc patched you up and topped you off with a couple pints of awesome." Dean grinned and showed Sam the bandage on his arm.

Sam groaned and smirked. "I start…craving cheeseburgers and cheap strippers…I'm coming back to hurt him."

George laughed. "Well, he definitely sounds better."

Sam used his good arm to shove himself up a little further on the couch, wincing at the pain. "Dean, we have to stop him."

Dean sighed, once more faced with his brother's one-track focus with no regard for his own injuries. For all they fought, Sam and their Dad were so much alike it made Dean want to pull his hair out sometimes. "Dude, we're not doing anything until you can walk without falling over."

"You need to take a few days at least," George said, attempting to lend weight to Dean's protest. "In the meantime, I'll see what I can do about getting the chief to take a closer look at Sergeant Gatsby. I should be able to get a word in the right ear about Marie being his former mistress."

Sam met Dean's eyes with a worried look. "Dean." He lowered his voice and grabbed a fistful of his brother's shirt to pull him closer. "They can't arrest him. You know that!" Sam whispered with a quick look to the doctor who was writing out a prescription. "He'll slaughter anyone who comes after him."

"We'll figure it out," Dean assured him.

"But we…" Sam trailed off and looked over Dean's shoulder. "Dean, how long has that light been flickering?"

"Huh? What light?" Dean turned to look and scowled as the light in the hall flickered and went out. Cold danced down his spine and he rose. "Doc? Get over here."

"What?" George stared at him, confused. "What's wrong?"

"I really need you to get away from the door," Dean suggested. His voice was quiet but the tension clearly said that was an order to move. He put his hand around the grip of the gun at his back. He saw other lights flicker and go out, sending the hall into darkness. "Now."

Dr. Rescal glanced out the door and then backed away from the suddenly lightless hall. "Dean? What's going on?"

"You don't wanna know," Dean said grimly.

Sam took hold of Dean's arm and used it to pull himself to his feet where he swayed and then found the doctor supporting him. "Thanks. How could he know where we are?"

"Don't know." Dean took a few steps closer to the door and felt Sam's hand on his back.

"No, Dean." Sam gripped the back of his t-shirt to stop him and had to work to swallow back the panic of watching him die for real.

"We're not gonna stand around like friggin' lemmings, Sam." Dean growled and pulled his gun free. "Only one way outta this room unless you got a better idea." He watched the door, alert for any sign of danger and felt Sam's hand tighten against his back in a spasm. "Sam?" Dean turned and gasped.

"Sam?" George hastily grabbed a gauze pad from behind him and pushed it up against Sam's suddenly bleeding nose. "Dammit."

"No, no, no." Dean braced a hand on his brother's good shoulder and felt the muscles under his hand go rigid as Sam's eyes slammed closed. "Not now, dammit! Sammy?"

"Ah…god!" Sam staggered as the now familiar pain lanced into his mind. He felt hands catch him as his knees buckled and heard Dean's voice in his ear, begging him to stay, and he fought the pull of the vision.

"Come on, Sam. Stay with me." Dean pulled him in with his left arm with the doctor holding him up from the other side.

"Let me have him, Dean." George spoke calmly in the face of the fear radiating from Dean.

"No," Dean refused and divided his attention between the door and his brother. "Sam." He knew his voice was the one thing Sam was conditioned to respond to. He'd seen his brother reeling from concussions, white with blood loss, so disoriented from pain he couldn't remember his own name, but the sound of his big brother's voice pulled his head around every time. That level of absolute trust tightened something in Dean's chest each time, and he counted on it now.

"Sammy. The bad guy's coming and I need you man." Dean gave him a gentle shake. "I need you with me, dude. So, you gotta open those eyes. Sam!" Dean bit his name off loudly in his brother's ear and Sam moaned, rolling his head toward Dean and cracking pain-filled eyes open. "That's it, Sammy."

Sam fought to follow Dean's voice through the confusion of images trying to pound their way into his skull. Flashes of light and color assaulted him. The last three times the vision had hit him this way, he had fallen before it. This time, he threw the force of his will against it, refusing to succumb to the pain threatening to take him under. Dean needed him. The danger was coming for him, and he wouldn't leave his brother to face it alone. Opening his eyes felt like scaling a mountain or rolling a boulder uphill, but he managed at last and was rewarded with Dean's green eyes peering down at him with a scared smile.

"Dean." Sam reeled, only his brother's and the doctor's hands keeping him standing. He could still feel the vision coming for him. It beat at the edge of his senses. It was taking all his concentration to fight it off. That in itself was part of what allowed him to. He'd never been able to stop a vision before nor feel one as though it were something alive. He understood now that some outside force was influencing his power and that could only be the special child they were here for - the sergeant. This was how he had found them at the coroner's office. "Screwing with me."

"Who? Sam, come on. Pull it together." Dean turned his gaze back to the door and tensed as the first tendril of shadow slipped around the frame of the door. "Running out of time here."

"Sergeant." Sam pulled his fraying thoughts together with difficulty. "Interfering."

"Wait. That son of a bitch is the reason your shining's gone hinkey on you?" Dean stared at him and growled in anger when Sam nodded. The nosebleeds, the pain, seeing his brother unconscious and near death three times in as many days…he was going to kill the bastard.

"What's he talking about?" George grunted as more of Sam's considerable weight settled on his shoulders. "What are either of you talking about?"

"It's…" Dean trailed off when he saw George's eyes widen in shock and raised his gun toward the door instinctively.

"What the hell is that?" George breathed.

"Crap." Dean tightened his arm around his brother. The door was being swallowed in moving, shifting shadows that crept out along the wall, floor and ceiling as he watched. "Come on, you son of a bitch!" He shouted and wished for a target he could actually shoot at.

"Are you…are you saying Sergeant Gatsby is somehow…" George stared at the door with fear plain on his face. "He's doing this?"

"Told you you didn't want to know," Dean replied grimly.

The shadows began to bulge out from the door as the light over their heads flickered.

"Uh…Dean? Tell me you know what this is?" George asked softly. "Tell me you know how to stop this."

"Working on it." Dean took his eyes off the door and met George's. "Whatever happens, you keep him safe," Dean said fiercely and nodded to Sam. "You don't let him die. You hear me?"

Sam followed the conversation with his brother's voice helping to anchor him as the pain reached a new level of agony. He saw the darkness sliding into the room through vision blurred with tears of pain and clamped his hand into Dean's shirt when his brother tried to pry him off.

"Dammit, Sam. I need my hands. Let go." Dean and George both tried to pry Sam loose with no luck. "Sam?"

"I can…" Sam gasped as the pain stabbed at him, and this time he clearly felt the malevolent presence behind it; he felt it like a line connecting him to a presence outside in the hall. Through that connection, he felt the power build and the evil glee that drove it. "Dean."

The light above them exploded to shower glass fragments down on the men, and the darkness erupted into the room. Black against black, Dean had the vague after-image in his eyes of it coming for them. He shoved his brother harshly into George and out of harm's way. Dean got a single shot off before it took him. It felt like being wrapped up by an octopus. His arms and legs were pulled away from him as something else wrapped around his chest and he felt himself lifted from the floor. He couldn't stop the short cry as the pain began, as though razors were biting through his clothes and into his flesh. It was what he'd felt in the camping store, only a thousand times worse. The pain swallowed him whole until nothing remained but the agony ripping through him.

Sam fell into the doctor with Dean's hard shove and collapsed to the floor with him. The movement shot pain through his wounded shoulder and threatened to finish the job the altered vision had been working toward, knocking him out.

"Sam?" George gasped and scrambled out from under the larger man, pulling Sam in against his chest. He couldn't see a thing in the darkness, but he heard when Dean shouted in pain and felt Sam's body jerk in response.

"No." Sam gasped. He turned his attention into his mind and ignored the doctor's frantic pleas. He knew what he had to do now. The sergeant obviously didn't see him as a threat, and Sam was going to take that mistake and shove it down his throat. He gathered every ounce of strength and power he had, not even completely understanding what he was doing. Sam felt it inside him, nipping at the edge of his control and seeking escape as it built. He felt fresh blood begin to drip down his chin. He heard Dean cry out again in the blackness. Sam gathered it all to him, wrapped it through with his anger and need to protect his brother, and he set it loose like a missile toward the sergeant's unsuspecting mind in the hall.

The power exploded out from his mind with a force that left him reeling. Sam felt himself fall into George distantly as he followed along the connection and knew the moment it struck Sergeant Gatsby. Shock transmitted back to him along the link, and he allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction as he felt the sergeant's mind burn before he gave in at last to the need to not be awake anymore.

Dean lost his grip on the gun and heard it clatter to the floor. Blood running in rivulets down his body made him itch and twitch amidst the pain. George's voice rose above his own strangled sounds of pain, calling his brother. Dean raged in the grip of the shadows and tried to free himself, but how did you fight something that intangible? "Sam!" He yelled out, and then gasped as the painful bands around him constricted suddenly. It cut off his air for a terrifying moment, but seconds later, he was released and dropped to the floor in a heap.

"God." Dean panted and tried to roll to his knees. He blinked up at the room in shock. The shadows were gone as if they had never been. The office was still dark, but the lights in the hall were on once more and filtered into the room. "Sam?" He found his gun and hobbled to his feet.

"I've got him, Dean." George said breathlessly from the floor where he sat with Sam's head and shoulders in his lap, clearly unconscious and the lower half of his face covered in blood. "Go."

Dean spared a moment to look at Sam, seeing the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and nodded. He quickly went to the door and leaned against the wall beside it. Dean stepped out into the hall, leading with his gun, and instantly aimed it at the head of Sergeant Gatsby who knelt in the center of the hall with his head in his hands.

"Hey, asshole." Dean eased a step closer and stopped.

Sergeant Gatsby slowly raised his head to look up at Dean. Like Sam, blood coated the lower half of his face and chest. "Stronger…than I thought…he was." He swayed and dropped back to sit on the floor as he felt himself dying.

Dean grinned and understood. Sam had done something, somehow, and beaten the bastard at his own game. Even so, he kept the muzzle firmly trained on the center of the man's head. "You gonna give up or do I get to shoot you?" His grin deepened. "I'm really hoping you go for option two."

Sergeant Gatsby smiled. His blood stained his teeth red and made it macabre as he reached a shaking hand down to the pistol at his side.

"I will shoot you dead," Dean warned. "You hurt my brother one too many times. I got no patience left, asshole."

"Not for you." The sergeant shook his head and drew his gun slowly. He raised it and put it under his own chin.

"What the hell?" Dean scowled in confusion.

"He's coming for him." Gatsby said softly and met Dean's eyes with a manic look in his own. "He's gonna die." He chuckled. "You can't save him."

"What do you mean?" Dean said angrily and took another step closer as rage boiled through him. He knew exactly who the sergeant was talking about. "What's that yellowed-eyed son of a bitch gonna do to my brother? Tell me!"

Gatsby shook his head and grinned again. "No…spoilers."

Dean saw the intent in his eyes a second too late. He lunged as the man pulled the trigger. Dean could only watch as the back of Gatsby's head exploded to decorate the wall and floor behind him in a spatter of gore. "Son of a bitch!" He shouted and looked down at the ruin of the man. "What the hell did you mean?" He lowered his gun and scrubbed a hand down his face.

"Dean? I think he's coming around."

George's voice drew Dean's head up and he took a breath, pushing back the rage and helplessness that had risen up to choke him. "You bastard." He turned his back on the body and went back into the office. "He's dead. Blew his own damn brains out," Dean told the doctor as he went to them and dropped to his knees beside them.

"God, Dean. Are you alright?" George waved a hand at him.

Dean glanced down at himself and sighed. He was covered in blood. His shirt and jeans were tattered with cuts. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." His entire body sang with pain, but he had no time for it and leaned down to pull his brother into his own arms as Sam moaned. "Sammy?" Dean palmed the side of his face and silently renewed his promise to himself to save him. Nothing was going to happen to his little brother while he was around.

"Here." George reached over with a clean pad of gauze and wiped at the blood on Sam's face. "Watch his shoulder."

"I've got him." Dean pushed Sam's ridiculous hair off his forehead and smiled. "Sam? You coming back?"

"M'here." Sam's voice was hoarse and he wanted to go back to sleep but he needed to see his brother and be sure he wasn't dreaming his voice. "Dean?" He opened his eyes and gasped, lurching up to grab his shoulder at the sight of all the blood.

"Whoa! I'm fine. Easy, Sammy." Dean held him back and chuckled. "Looks worse than it is, I swear. You alright?"

"Yeah." Sam tried to sit himself up and sagged back into Dean's arm with a groan when his head spun.

"I need to check you over, Dean." George was peering at the visible wounds on Dean's arms and he looked up grimly. "But you two need to get out of here. That gunshot, even at this hour, someone's going to come check. You shouldn't be here when they do. Come on." He helped ease Sam up so he was sitting and between the two of them they got him back on his feet. "Where are you staying? I'll come check on you after…" He looked around at his office and then out into the hall. "…after this is dealt with."

Dean looked at him, surprised. "You're not gonna ask fifty questions about what just happened?"

"One crisis at a time," George said and shrugged. "First rule of being a doctor, really. I'll have a breakdown later."

Dean smiled. "Sounds like a plan." He pulled Sam in against his chest, under his arm, to hold him up and told George where they were staying.

"Just…try not to get in any more trouble before I get there?" George managed a smile for them and made Dean chuckle.

"Do our best. Here we go, Sam." Dean pulled him into a slow walk as his brother's head rolled over to rest on his shoulder, forehead against his neck. "Sam?"

"I'm good," Sam replied out of habit and managed to get his legs moving in time with his brother's.

"That's my boy," Dean nodded, relieved. He stopped at the door and looked back. "Thanks, Doc."

George waved. "Get out of here already." He smiled. "I'll see you in an hour or so." He followed them to the door and got his first look at the mess in the hall. He sighed. "Maybe two hours. Good god."

"You're not gonna…get in trouble for this, are you?" Sam raised his head enough to look back at George, worry creasing his brow.

"Sam, I'll be fine." George patted his arm and smiled. "Go on now. Hurry."

"Later, George." Dean got them moving again and went wide around what was left of Sergeant Gatsby's brains toward the stairs and safety.

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_To Be Continued…_


	8. Chapter 8

_**CHAPTER 8** _

"Dean, would you lie down already?" Sam asked tiredly from his own bed. It was making him hurt watching Dean shuffle stiffly around the room. He wasn't telling Sam something, and he knew, whatever that something was, it had scared his big brother. The moment they arrived at the motel, Dean had gotten him into bed and then set about pouring fresh salt lines, drawing protective symbols above the door and window and had spent ten minutes on the floor in front of the door and told Sam not to worry about it when he asked. "Dean?"

"Shut up, Sam." Dean turned and scowled at him. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fat chance of that with you puttering around the room."

"I'm not puttering," Dean growled but did relent enough to drop onto the side of his own bed. "How you feeling?"

Sam snorted softly. "As good as you look. Would you please let me help you with those?" He gestured to his brother. Dean was bare-chested and had made a weak effort at cleaning the blood from himself. He was covered in an impressive collection of shallow cuts, some deep enough to still be bleeding sluggishly.

"Doc'll be here soon." Dean reached across and pushed Sam back down when he tried to push himself up. "You know how much blood you lost today? Forget it or I'm gonna end up donating to you again, and I think there's a limit on how much awesome you can have in one day."

Sam chuckled and laid back. "Fine." Though the sergeant wasn't there to interfere with his visions anymore, the aftermath remained. His head was splitting, while his shoulder thrummed with its own burning pain, and he'd gratefully taken the painkillers Dean had pushed on him. Worse, though, was the weakness that made his limbs feel leaden and he knew that was the blood loss making him tired and shaky. He wanted to sleep, desperately, but was unwilling to until he saw Dean taken care of. He smirked as Dean leaned back against the headboard with a groan. If George didn't show up soon, he'd damn well do it himself whether his big brother liked it or not.

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George stood in the door of his office and watched as the body of Sergeant Gatsby was lifted up onto a gurney and wheeled down the hall into his operating theater.

"Damn, George." Chief Jones ran a hand over his bald head and looked down at his coroner. "This is one hell of a mess. You're sure about this?"

"I wish I wasn't." George said sadly. "He came down here raving about his wife and how he'd killed his mistress…" He waved a hand at the mess. "Then said he couldn't live with himself anymore and just blew his brains out."

"I always knew the Sarge was a little…odd, but, my God." The chief looked over the macabre scene in the hall in distress. "I'd never have thought him capable of this." He clapped a hand onto the doctor's shoulder. "At least he didn't decide to take you down with him. You be alright?"

George nodded. "Yes. I just need to get the sergeant squared away, and then I'm going home for the night. I could use a drink."

"Good idea." Chief Jones smiled. "We'll get out of your hair and have the crime scene techs in here later."

"Thank you, Chief." George shook his hand and smiled as the Chief strode away up the hall with his men in tow. He shook his head and went down the other way and into the theater. George went to a cabinet and took out a small bag, bringing it over to the table next to the dead man's body. "You really did make a hash of things, Sergeant." George said and shook his head. He opened the bag and took out a silver bowl and short, thick blade. "Need to make a call." The doctor's eyes flashed to solid black as he dragged the athame across Gatsby's cold throat and held the bowl beneath it, letting the still warm blood trickle and flow into it. When it was half full he pulled it away, dipped his finger into the viscous liquid and swirled it while speaking an ancient incantation.

George smiled and held the bowl up near his face. "Master, I have protected your investment. Sam Winchester is alive." He smirked. "Though perhaps not well at the moment." He paused, tilting his head as he listened to the voice breathing up from the slowly spinning blood. "Yes, his brother lives, though I still maintain you would have more power over the younger if the elder's influence were done away with." George flinched as the whispers grew in strength and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Master. Of course. I will see to it."

He set the bowl aside and sighed. "Stubborn."

George went back down the hall to the office. He quickly gathered up medical supplies and stocked the black physician's bag. Finished, he picked it up and then stopped to look in a small mirror hanging on the wall. He adjusted his tie and grinned. "One last performance, my dear doctor. Have to make sure the Winchesters are fighting fit until the time is right. I'm sure you don't mind." He looked into the reflection and chuckled, listening to the screams from the mind of his meat suit before turning and leaving.

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Dean jerked awake at the sound of a knock on the door and groaned as each cut on his body ached back to life. "Crap." He sat up and looked over to see Sam blinking his eyes open.

"Door." Sam said sleepily and pushed up on an elbow as Dean stood with a moan of pain.

"About damn time. Stay." Dean aimed a finger at his brother and went around the bed to the door. He grabbed his gun from the table and held it along his leg as he cracked it open, then smiled and opened it wide. "Hey, Doc."

"Oh!" George spun from where he had been about to walk away and dropped his bag just inside the door in surprise. "Good grief." He put a hand over his heart and smiled sheepishly. "I thought maybe you'd fallen asleep."

Dean chuckled. "Sorry." He bent and picked up the bag, handing it back.

"How's Sam?" George asked, stepping into the room and across the salt line his bag had broken.

"I'm fine, George." Sam smiled at him and then stared, shocked, as the doctor lurched to a stop as if he had run into an invisible wall.

Dean spun back with Sam's gasp and his jaw dropped. "Son of a bitch."

"Dean?" Sam sat up quickly. "What the hell?"

Dean bent in front of George who was now glaring angrily at him and flipped back the corner of a cheap macramé rug to reveal a diagram drawn on the carpet. "Devil's trap. You bastard." He stood and glared at the demon.

"You're smarter than they give you credit for, Dean." George growled, and then smiled as his eyes bled to solid black. He dropped the physician's bag and put his hands up. "Congratulations. You've caught yourselves a demon."

"How long?" Dean advanced on him to the edge of the trap. "How long have you been riding him?"

"What's wrong, Dean? Worried a demon had his dirty hands all over little brother?" George smirked and looked over at Sam. "If I wanted him dead, I could have killed him a dozen times over." He looked back at Dean. "You too."

"Then what do you want?" Sam staggered as he stood, but steadied and went to his bag, rifling through it. "Why take the doctor?" He found what he wanted and turned around, opening the book in his hands to the exorcism he needed.

"That would be telling." George tsked softly and turned his disturbing gaze back to Dean. "So what now, Dean?" He laughed. "Not just going to send me back to Hell are you? That would be unimaginative."

"Oh, Sam's just got that out in case of emergency." Dean said softly. He went back to the table and picked up his knife. "First we're gonna see what you know."

"Your friendly doctor's still in here, you know." George raised his brows and tapped his chest. "Poor man's been screaming since I took him. Kill me, kill him."

"Not gonna kill you." Dean promised darkly. "Sam, get the holy water."

George's smile faded to a glare. "How long do you think you can hold me here before I escape?" He straightened and dusted invisible lint off his shoulder. "Or until help arrives," He added in an amused tone.

Dean considered that. He glanced over to Sam whose face told him what he was already thinking; there was no way they could defend themselves in a damn motel room from a potential horde of demons. He wanted…needed to know what the demons had planned for them, but not at the expense of their lives. "Do it., he said softly and stepped back from the circle.

"What? What are you doing?" George demanded, pushing at the invisible boundary that held him.

Sam nodded with a small smile of understanding and bent his head to the book. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus."

George's eyes opened wide. "That's it? You're not going to keep me around? Ask me questions?" He glared at Dean. "What? No impromptu baths with holy water? I'm disappointed in you, Winchester."

"Bite me," Dean growled, while Sam continued the exorcism. "Oh, and say hello to your boss for me." He turned to glance back at the black eyes. "Tell him I'm gonna enjoy ganking his ass one of these days."

George's face contorted in pain. He stumbled back from the edge of the trap and then grinned up at Dean. "Sorry. I still have work to do up here." He dove for the black bag still at his feet and hastily yanked out a bottle. "Catch you later, boys."

"Shit!" Dean lurched toward the demon, intent on stopping him somehow but was too late.

George opened the bottle and spilled its contents onto the carpet and over the writing of the devil's trap. Whatever it was ate into the circle as Dean watched and erased part of it. George reared back and screamed as black smoke erupted from his mouth to pour out into the air and swirled out the open door behind him into the night.

Dean ran for the door, and Sam dashed forward to catch the doctor's body as he fell forward. "Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled and slammed the door shut.

"Dean, he's still alive." Sam eased George back so he was sitting against the side of the bed and squeezed a hand to his shoulder below the wound, trying to ease the fresh pain. He watched George panting for air; his eyes opened too wide in shock. "Dr. Rescal?"

Dean knelt beside them and studied the man. "Doc, you in there?"

George's eyes finally looked up and met Dean's. "Oh, my God." He stared between the two men, slowly shaking his head. "I…I don't…"

"It's ok." Sam put a hand on his arm and smiled. "It's gone. You're free."

"George." Dean waited for the man's gaze to meet his again. "Do you know how long?"

"A…a day. I think." George looked back to Sam. "After your nosebleed, when you passed out. It was just after you both left that first time. I was…I was walking back to do Marie's autopsy and…" He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. "I tried to run…all that black smoke pouring after me…God!" He lowered his hands and stared up at them. "Demons are real."

Dean nodded. "Yeah." He put a hand under the man's shoulder. "Let's get you on your feet. You hurt anywhere?"

"N-no. No, I don't think so." George stood shakily with Dean's help. "I could…see and hear…everything." He closed his eyes again. "It wanted me to."

Sam stood and groaned, swaying as the bullet wound in his shoulder protested all the movement. "Damn," He said breathlessly.

Dean caught hold of his arm. "Well, you're going back to bed."

"The gunshot. I remember." George raised a shaking hand to Sam's shoulder and gently touched the now blood-spotted bandage as if testing that it were real. He shook himself and looked over at Dean and his myriad wounds. He nodded to himself. "I'm still a doctor and…and you boys need help. Sit. Please. You lay down." He poked Sam, and then went to retrieve his medical bag from where the demon had left it. He picked up the now empty bottle and looked at the label. "Hydrogen Peroxide." He ran a finger through the broken area of the devil's trap. "Is this permanent marker?"

"Yeah." Dean eased Sam down onto his bed and looked back.

"It oxidized the inorganic ions in the dye, effectively erasing it." George stood and came around the beds to sit beside Sam. "Can't imagine why he added that to the kit."

"Insurance." Dean gave Sam's neck a squeeze while he panted with pain. "Easy, kiddo."

Sam nodded, feeling a sweat break out on his skin. "Demons aren't…aren't stupid." He opened his eyes as the doctor pulled a chair over to sit next to his bed. "Probably brought it just in case this happened."

George shook his head and started taking supplies out of the bag. "You two…you talk about these things like it's…normal."

"For us, it is." Dean smiled gently and moved back so the doctor could reach Sam's shoulder. He ignored the twinge of paranoia that made him want to keep the doctor away from Sam. The demon was gone. He did however decide from now on to start carrying a flask of holy water with him and splash anyone they came in contact with. He smirked, thinking how Sam would react to that.

"This looks alright, Sam." George nodded as he peeled the bandages back and looked at the bullet wound on the front of his shoulder. "No pulled stitches here, just some blood seeping through. I need to check the back. Can you sit up for me?"

"Yeah." Sam stretched his good arm out and felt it taken in a firm grasp as Dean pulled him upright. He let his head drop forward wearily as George moved behind him. He flinched as the tape pulled at the skin around the wound and smiled as Dean's hand found his neck again. "I'm good."

"I know," Dean assured him and kept his hand in place.

"Damn. One torn stitch back here." George patted Sam's good shoulder. "Just stay there. Won't take me more than a minute to fix this."

"How bad is it?" Dean leaned over and looked at the back of Sam's shoulder, frowning at the fresh trickle of blood coming from the wound.

"Dean, it's nothing. Really," George assured him with a smile. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and sighed. "He uh…the demon, he didn't pack any anesthetic. I'm sorry, Sam. This is going to be painful."

"Bastard." Dean growled and hoped he'd someday have the chance to kill the demon.

"It's alright, George." Sam nodded and inched forward so his head rested on Dean's chest, suddenly not ashamed to need the contact.

"Ok, here we go." George steadied his hand and hated himself a little for having to cause the man more pain on top of what he already suffered.

Sam fought not to flinch as he felt the torn stitch being cut away or the bite of the needle and thread pulling his skin. He concentrated on the steady pressure of Dean's hand instead, drawing strength and comfort from the contact.

"Sam?" George sat back from the clean fresh bandage taped to his shoulder and moved back to the chair. He took Sam's good shoulder and gave him a shake. He was resting with his head against his brother's chest. "Lay him back."

"Yeah. Sammy?" Dean tipped Sam's head back, smirking as he saw he was half-asleep. " Blood loss does it every time."

George watched Dean expertly ease his brother to the bed, careful of his shoulder and frowned. "How often are you boys in this kind of…position? Wounded and…and demons?"

"Doc, I promise," Dean leaned back once Sam was settled and met his eyes. "If you still wanna know the answer to the question tomorrow, you call me." He smiled. "Don't think you will though."

George nodded slowly and rubbed his hands on his pants. He sniffed around a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, and got himself under control. "One crisis at a time. Your turn."

"Naw, it's cool, Doc. You can probably go home." Dean smiled and startled as a hand clamped on to his arm.

"Dean." Sam cracked tired eyes open to glare up at him. "Shut…up."

In spite of everything that had happened, George was startled into a laugh. He rubbed his hands over his face and smiled. "You should listen to him."

Dean rolled his eyes, peeled Sam's hand off his arm and moved to sit on his own bed where the doctor could see him. "Doesn't even hurt anymore."

"That's adrenaline talking," George informed him with a smirk. "You'll change your tune once it wears off."

Dean sat stoically through the doctor cleaning the wounds on his chest, bandaging some. He was wincing by the time George got to his back and arms and was flat out sweating in pain once they reached his legs. He'd balked at stripping down to his boxers, but one amused chuckle from George and his brother both had had him blushing furiously and giving in with a curse.

"Sam, would you go to sleep already?" Dean glared over as he caught Sam watching from half-closed lids again.

"You both need to rest for a few days." George tied off a last stitch on Dean's outer thigh and taped a bandage over it. He sat back and smirked at the young man's mummified appearance.

"Can't." Dean shook his head. "Not yet. Once you're done we need to shag ass out of here." He knew that was why Sam was hanging on to consciousness. "The demons know where we are now. We have to move before they come looking."

George nodded and started packing his things back into his bag. He took out a bottle and handed it to Dean. "Two every six hours for pain, for both of you." He smiled as he handed them over. "Can I help you do…anything?" He huffed out a breath and stood. "I feel like I should be doing more. You saved me." He ran a hand through his hair and threw his arms out, looking at the two exhausted, battered young men in front of him. "You saved the whole damn town for all I know and no one even knows. It feels wrong to just walk away from you."

Dean grinned and got to his feet. "I appreciate that, doc. We both do. Believe me." He looked over and saw Sam's tired nod and smile. "You're safer if you just go now. Being around us…it ain't safe on a good day." He went to his bag and pulled out a flannel, easing it on over his multitude of bandages, grimacing with pain. "Sam, you good for a minute?"

"Yeah."

"Come on, Doc." Dean smiled again and headed for the door.

George picked up his bag and turned to Sam. "Be easy on that shoulder for a while, Sam. Please."

"I will." Sam gave him a shadow of a smile. "Thank you for everything."

George shook his head, bemused. "No. Thank you." He patted the young man's shoulder and followed Dean outside and to the back of the sleek, black Impala in front of the room.

"I can't promise they won't come after you again," Dean went to the trunk and popped it open. "I can give you a few tips to protect yourself though." He took a sack from the corner of the trunk and picked up a can of salt. He held it up. "Salt. Put a line and doors and windows and nothing supernatural can get in." He held up a small jar of water next. "Holy water. Splash someone with it, spike their drink with it. It's like battery acid for demons." George was nodding in a sort of distracted way as he tried process everything. "Here." Dean handed him a rosary. "You know the Lord's prayer?" He smiled when George nodded. "Good man. Say that, drop the Rosary into any container of water and you have instant anti-demon juice."

"I…thank you." George took the bag Dean handed him and felt a little breathless with terror as he began to realize how fundamentally his world had changed in the space of a day.

Dean clapped a hand to his shoulder as he shut the trunk. "I know it's scary. I wish I could give you something more concrete to protect yourself but…" He shrugged.

"You work with what you have." George took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. "I understand. Thank you." He took Dean's hand and shook it firmly. "You should get out of here."

"We are." Dean assured him. "There's a card in there, too, with my number. You think they're coming back for you, call."

"I will." George went to his own car, barely remembering the drive with the demon controlling him, and got in.

Dean watched him pull away with a sad smile and went back into the room. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He yelled, seeing Sam up and moving around. Sam jerked in surprise and teetered on wobbly legs. "Dammit." Dean jumped forward and caught his arm, pulling him back up as his knees buckled until Sam got them locked under him again.

"Packing," Sam said breathlessly. "We need to get out of Dodge, now."

"I can do it, idiot." Dean grumbled.

"Right, cause you're not hurt." Sam rolled his eyes and slapped a hand to Dean's chest, making him hiss and hunch over. He chuckled. "How about...you let me help?"

"Pain in my ass, Sammy." Dean groaned and rubbed a careful hand over his chest, feeling all the bandages under his shirt. "Fine. Move it then and stop hitting me."

Sam chuckled and went back to shoving books and clothes into his bag with one arm. Like his brother, he pulled only a flannel on, having to grit his teeth to get it up over his left shoulder and dropped heavily into the chair for a moment. He cradled his shoulder in his good hand and watched Dean as he tried to pick up his bag without moving his back, failed and hunched with a pained groan.

Sam laughed softly. "Dude, we're a mess."

Dean looked around to him and snorted. "Speak for yourself. I still look awesome." He sucked it up and ignored the pain, grabbed his bag. He took Sam's as well on his way past the table and went out to the car, tossing both in the trunk. He turned, expecting to see his stubborn brother already in the door and frowned when he didn't. A moment of panic threaded through his thoughts until he reached the room door and saw that Sam simply had yet to stir from the chair. He heaved out a soft breath in relief and smiled. Sam sat with his forehead resting on the table, right arm holding his left across his chest.

"I'm getting up," Sam said as he saw Dean's feet appear next to his chair. "In a minute."

"Up you go, Sasquatch." Dean put a hand under his shoulder and slid an arm across his back. "Doc gave us some of the good stuff. Get in the car and you can get high and go to sleep."

Sam laughed but cut it off in a soft gasp of pain and nodded. "No argument."

Dean smirked out to the car. "Now I know it's bad. You, accepting drugs without argument?" He laughed and eased Sam down into the passenger seat.

"Shut up, jerk." Sam rolled slightly to his right as Dean pushed the door closed and let his head thump into the window as his left shoulder throbbed and pounded.

"Bitch." Dean chuckled and went around the car, sliding into the driver's seat. He took the pill bottle from his pocket, shook two out and held them out. "Here." Sam fumbled his good hand out for them and swallowed them dry, too exhausted to bother hunting for a bottle of water.

"Thanks," Sam said softly and closed his eyes. Instantly, the vision of his brother's dead eyes flashed in his mind and he shivered with remembered fear as the wound in his shoulder burned more brightly, like a reminder of how close he had come to losing him for good.

"Hey." Dean saw Sam shudder as he drove and scowled. He twisted, stifling a gasp of pain, and pulled his leather jacket out of the backseat.

Sam snapped his eyes open as something heavy settled over his chest and looked down to see his brother's jacket. He smiled. "Thanks, Dean." He shifted lower in the seat and sniffed in, breathing in the familiar smells of gun oil and leather and letting it wipe away the fear and ease him down into sleep.

Dean grinned and put his eyes back on the road. No damn demon was ever going to come between him and his brother. He wouldn't allow it. He would save Sam or die trying.

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_The End._


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